


I Don't Love You

by MyChemicalRachel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School is almost over, but the drama is just beginning. Frank and his friends couldn't be happier that the long-awaited Senior trip has finally arrived, even if it means the entire class, including the preps, the jocks, and the stoners are going. And where else would they be going other than the city that never sleeps; Las Vegas. But some of Frank's excitement deflates when he's assigned to room with the biggest jerk in school, Gerard Way. Nothing could be worse... until Frank wakes up in bed with Gerard, no memory of the night before, and a wedding ring. And let the drama begin...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I let the locker door swing shut, metal connecting with purple metal in a sharp  _clank._ Purple. Who the hell chose to paint the lockers purple? The entire school was a massive spew of purple and gold, the colors running opposite each other down every hallway, lining every wall in the form of banners and posters cheering on the Lakers. They outlined the entire building, like prison walls that held the clusters of students captive inside the bastille of horrid colors.

The halls are emptying out by now. Normal kids sprint for the door like a lifeline when the final bell rings on a Friday afternoon. So why am I still here, at almost three PM, going farther into the school instead of running the opposite direction? Well that's simple; Detention. 

I drag the soles of my Converse across the hard marble colored tile, my backpack hitched up on my shoulder, feeling less like a weight than my reluctance to go to detention. Here I was, a week from the end of school-- not just Summer vacation, but  _graduation_ \-- and I was getting in trouble. Trouble, I might state, that was not even my fault to begin with.

It was Wednesday morning when I was busted for skipping class. One of the teachers, some old hairy guy that I didn't have class with, stopped me in the hall and asked to see my pass. When I had stuttered out an excuse as to why I didn't have one, he just sneered and dragged me to the Principle's office. Now, you ask, why was I wandering the halls then? I said this trouble wasn't my fault, right? So what was I  _really_  doing when the teacher caught me without a pass?

Simple; I was hiding.

Right before I had walked into my second period class, I was grabbed from behind. Two jocks had pulled me away from the safety of the classroom, through the gymnasium, empty that early in the day, and into the locker room. There, they proceeded to shove me against the lockers, one of them tearing stuff out of my backpack, leaving a mess of crumpled paper and torn journals on the concrete floor, while the other kneed me in the balls. Low blow, if you ask me, and that's exactly what I told him. 

Though I was winded and doubled over in pain, I had laughed. "That's the best you've got?" I asked. "That's low. Pathetic, almost. I thought you guys were getting better at this whole  _kicking my ass_  thing."

Not the best move. The first jock, the one who had kneed me, simply chuckled before his rounded fist connected with my stomach. More wind rushed out of me, leaving me breathless and weak, on my knees on the cold concrete floor. I could do nothing but watch as they grinned and left the locker room. I had been leaving the locker room, finally able to breathe and walk without wincing, when the teacher caught me. 

So now here I was, the toes of my black shoes mere inches from the designated detention room. The wooden door was closed, the single glass window in the entrance covered from the inside by a grey curtain. No lights shone under the door. It was like the room was deserted, empty and hollow on the other side. Maybe it was. Maybe I could skip this whole stupid thing, leave like every other kid, and pretend like detention never even happened. I stand there for a long moment, wandering if I should test the doorknob for access or just turn and leave. 

"Are you going in, or are you just gonna stand there like a dumbass?" The voice that sounds behind me answers my question and I roll my eyes. Without even turning, I know who the voice belongs to.

"I don't know, Gerard." I pretend to ponder the question, pursing my lips and tilting my head to one side. "Maybe I was waiting for you." I spin on my heels and my natural cocky smile falls into place, looking up to meet his stupid hazel eyes. His stupid black hair falls into his stupid pale face and I fight the urge to kick him in his stupid balls.

Gerard rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. "Move, Iero."

I bite down on my lip, shaking my head. "I love the way you say my name," I say. "But I feel like, by this stage in our relationship, you should know my first name."

Another sigh and Gerard's stupid eyes meet my own. "Move,  _Frank._ " He sneers the word, drawing out the single syllable, and I grimace, realizing I don't like the sound of his voice saying my name.

"I think I prefer Iero," I inform him, crossing my arms and studying him before offering a resolute nod. "Yeah, just call me Iero from now on." I narrow my eyes at the taller boy in front of me. Irritation clouds his eyes and a permanent frown seems etched onto his pale lips. "We should go make out," I decide.

Gerard groans, getting fed up and shoving me out of his way. He pushes the door open with ease and moves into the room beyond, leaving me no choice but to follow behind.

The teacher residing over detention glances up as we make our way inside, raising bushy eyebrows and watching the two of us over the top of her cat-eyes glasses. "Nice of you to join us," She rasps, her voice sounding nasally and smoke worn. Gerard ignores the older woman completely, strutting past the lines of desks to a seat in the back, while I offer a cheeky grin and slide into a desk in the front row.

Of course, the entire room was basically vacant. No sane student would be stupid enough to get a detention this close to the end of the school year. Sure, most of the Seniors were running amuck and setting all hell loose in the hallways, but that was just in good fun. Senior pranks, pent up adrenaline. All that shit. But skipping class landed me here with Gerard and two other kids, neither of whom I recognized, in a stuffy, silent room for sixty minutes instead of out with my friends, enjoying the fact that there are seven days of my High School career left.

Just my fucking luck, right?


	2. Chapter 2

I try to refrain from sighing as I let my backpack drop onto the putrid green carpeted floor. My vision is slightly out of focus from staring at my last English assignment of the year; A six page essay covering everything I’ve learned in High School and my aspirations for the future. I bullshitted the entire thing. I make a mental note to take my glasses next time I plan on getting detention because looking at my own scrawled handwriting for an hour without them has given me nothing but a headache.

I pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers and let out a long breath. I don’t notice Bob perched in the corner of the room, a book in his lap the fucking nerd, until he looks up at me, his bright blue eyes meeting mine, and frowns sympathetically. “How was detention?” He wonders.

I reply with the roll of my eyes and fall onto my bed. The room isn’t small by any standard, but it seems cramped with the two twin sized beds pushed opposite each other against each wall. Over the past few months, I’ve gotten used to Bob constantly being around. Sharing a room with him wasn’t all bad, and it was better than nothing, so I accepted it gratefully. “Horrible,” I admit. “Gerard was there. But I got my English essay done.”

This peaks Bob’s attention though and he sits up, closing his book. “Did he say anything to you?” He demands. “I swear, I’ll kick his ass in a second.”

Quickly shaking my head, I kick my shoes off, my jeans coming down after. I glance at the clock and realize I’m running late. “It’s fine, Bob. Seriously don’t worry about it.” I stand up, peeling off my shirt and tossing it into the hamper. Bob’s side of the room was a complete mess, but I did my best to keep my things tidy and in place. I wasn’t a naturally neat person, but I’ve felt a constant burdening sense since moving in with Bob. His parents accepted me with smiles and hugs, though I felt the need to be a good guest. I didn’t want them to kick me out, too. “I’ve gotta get to work,” I say, finding my usual black uniform shirt and pulling it on. It’s starting to smell, but I don’t have time to wash it now. Instead, I grab a bottle of cologne I’m sure is Bob’s and empty half of the contents on myself.

“You need a ride?” Bob asks.

I start to shake my head, refusing the offer, but he’s not listening. He grabs his car keys and stands up, heading out the door before stopping and turning to the desk we share on the far wall. He grabs a single folded paper and hands it to me. “My mom told me to remind you to fill it out It’s due by Wednesday,” He comments, and then disappears. I unfold the paper to see it’s about the Senior trip.

I sigh and race after Bob, meeting him at the car. I hand the letter back and shake my head. “Dude, you know I can’t afford that.”

“It’s our Senior class trip,” Bob replies, exasperated as he reverses back into the street. When he shifts into drive, he deliberately meets my gaze and frowns. “You can’t miss our Senior trip. It’s  _Las fucking Vegas_. You’re not missing this.”

I chuckle under my breath and study the letter in my hands. “Yeah, and are you gonna loan me the three grand it costs to go?”

Bob purses his lips and makes a vague noise. “Think of it as a grant. No paying back needed.”

I look up instantly, shaking my head in fervent, jerky motions. “No.” My jaw tightens and I find myself glaring at him. For some reason, his giving nature makes me angry. Maybe it’s the fact that he has so much to give, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t. “No,” I repeat. “Look, I love your parents for taking me in when mine kicked me out. But I’m not some fucking charity case. I’m saving up money to get my own place and I appreciate that they’re letting me crash with you until I get enough, but I’m not letting them pay three-thousand dollars for some stupid vacation to Las Vegas.”

Bob sighs this time and glances over at me, looking disappointed. “Frank, you know my parents don’t see you as a charity case. You’re my best friend, that’s why they let you stay. And they love you, they’re not just going to kick you out on the streets--”

I scoff and lean back in my seat, crossing my arms defensively. “Yeah, I didn’t think  _my_  parents would kick me out either.”

“Your parents are assholes,” He snaps. I can hear him gradually growing more irritated. “But the point is, this is our Senior trip. The entire class is going. And that includes you. My mom plans on making sure of that. So you can be grateful and say thank you, or you can throw a fit about dignity or some shit and make my parents feel like horrible people just because they want to help out.” The cars pulls to a stop outside the movie theatre and Bob turns to face me. “So what’s it gonna be, Frankie? Are you going to make my parents feel bad just for wanting to help?”

My teeth grind together once again and I narrow my eyes at him. “I hate you,” I decide and then sigh heavily, not breaking the gaze or easing up on my scowl. “Fine, they can help me pay for the trip.”

“Good,” Bob grins. “Because my mom already gave a check to the school. You just have to fill out the damn paper.”

I let out a defeated huff of air and mumble incoherently my hatred of Bob yet again, adding in a grumbled “thanks for the ride,” and climb out of the car.

As I’m clocking into work in the back room, a voice behind me booms out obnoxiously. “Frank!” I recognize my manager’s angry shout before even turning around. “You’re late again.”

I turn slowly to face the wrath of Brian. He’s a short man, only a few inches taller than me, but maybe ten years older. He’s covered in tattoos that are mostly hidden by his uniform, and I would probably like him if he weren’t my boss. He crosses his arms and waits for my excuse silently.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, putting on my work hat and making sure my shirt is straightened to his satisfaction. “I had detention after school and then I had to go home and change.”

Brian relaxes a little, letting out a soft sigh. He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Frank, I know you need this job, and I honestly don’t mind covering for you-- That’s why I haven’t fired you yet. But if the district manager sees that you’re constantly late, there’s nothing I can do to save your ass. Be on time, okay?”

I nod and let out a relieved breath, forcing a small smile. “Thanks Brian.”

Brian gestures to the theatre lobby. “Jane is on tickets. Can you work concession?”

Another nod is my only response and then I’m ushered out to work. Within the hour, the near vacant lobby is crawling with people. They remind me of leeches, the way they scurry and shove, some walking leisurely while others seem to be running to their respective theatre room. I take order after order for the strangers, filling cups and popcorn bowls, managing more than once to burn myself on the machine, in a monotonous cycle.

“What can I get you?” I ask before looking up and meeting a familiar gaze of deep hazel eyes set behind square glasses that fall to nearly the end of his nose. His straightened hair is hidden under a beanie, but he messes with a few strands that stick out. “Oh, hey Mikey.” I smile.

Mikey returns the smile, just a  small twitch of his lips. “Hey Frank.” He glances behind him, seeming nervous, and I frown.

A few months ago, Mikey and I had been pretty good friends. Things changed when Gerard came into the picture, though, and Mikey and I stopped talking. We exchanged a few words in simple civility, but nothing more. Like most people, I think Mikey was embarrassed to be seen in public with me after what happened. It didn’t help that his brother despised me.

As if summoned, Gerard appears next to Mikey. His glare meets mine and I force down the bile at seeing his face, the memories that seem to rush forward with it, and grin. “Hey Gerard,” I greet him sweetly. “Movie night? I should’ve known; Remember when we all used to do that together, Mikes?”

Mikey looks embarrassed, Gerard looks pissed, and I can tell they both remember it very clearly. That was when they didn’t hate me, when Gerard still called me “ _Frank_ ” instead of “ _Iero_ ,” when they used to be my friends. That was before everything changed.

My smile falters a little and I glance at the line growing behind the brothers. “So what can I get you?”

“A new cashier,” Gerard states. “And maybe a restraining order.”

I fight the urge to flip him off, knowing that Brian wouldn’t like that very much, and shake my head sadly. “Sorry, I’m the only one working concession tonight. And the restraining order might put a damper on our relationship, Gee. We were just starting to get somewhere.”

Gerard’s expression turns from pissed to murderous and I see his jaw clench. “Don’t call me that,” He snaps and then shakes his head. “Fuck it. Come on, Mikey.” Without waiting for protest from his brother, Gerard grabs Mikey’s arm and drags him toward theatre seven without purchasing anything. Mikey looks back at me with a sympathetic frown, but the expression does nothing for me. I know he’s sorry, but there’s nothing he can do to make it better. After all, it was me that fucked everything up in the first place.


	3. Chapter 3

I hum under my breath the tune of some Green Day song. The lobby is clear with the exception of Jane, the girl in charge of tickets, but she has both headphones in with a comic book open in front of her, paying me no mind. The next movie won’t start for another thirty minutes, each theatre already filled with whatever moviegoers are coming for the time being. I think Brian is somewhere in the back room, probably taking inventory or sleeping on the job-- Both are possible, though I don’t really care enough to check.

I rearrange a few boxes of candy, building a tower in the glass case which proceeds to fall over and I have to clean it up again. When I get bored of that, I start filling the popcorn machine with kernels. It’s when I’m shutting the door that I hear the almost silent voice behind me. “Frank?”

I turn around, seeing Mikey over the counter, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. “Hey,” I smile again, not nearly as warm as before. “You need something?”

Mikey quickly shakes his head and produces a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket, holding them up for me to see. “Can you go out?”

Balling up a clean napkin, I throw it in Jane’s direction. She looks up through a curtain of black hair when the trash hits her book, pulling one earbud out. “I’m going on break,” I tell her. “Cover the counter?”

Jane replies with a thumbs up and resumes reading. I look back to Mikey and nod, following him outside the theatre. It’s nearing sunset, the evening Jersey air feeling humid and suffocating as the sun casts a strange orange glow on everything. I imagine a fire in the distant horizon, a ball of flaming gas as big as the sun eating everything in its disastrous path, though it’s nothing more than the usual city skyline.

Leaning back against the brick wall, I pull out my own cigarettes and light one up. Mikey follows suit, his movements more awkward than mine. I can tell he wants to say something to me, but he’s silent for a long moment. Eventually he sighs, letting out a stream of smoke, and meets my eyes. “You going on the Senior trip?” He wonders.

Mikey was an insanely smart kid. He’s younger than me, skipped a grade a few years back and ended up in the same grade as me. Some people called him the “smart son,” which probably pissed Gerard off, but he didn’t show it; He seemed happy that his brother was in the same grade as he was.

I roll my eyes with a soft chuckle. “Unfortunately,” I mutter. Mikey furrows his brow in confusion and I quickly shake my head. Of course, he’s not aware of my living situation with Bob. He’s not aware that my parents kicked me out of the house six months ago. He didn’t stick around long enough to find out. “I mean yeah. It sounds like it should be fun, right?”

Mikey nods slowly and takes another drag. Awkward silence falls again and after a few long moments, I decide to break it. “If you don’t want to be seen with me, I can go back inside.”

Mikey looks up, surprised by my words. “Why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?”

“Because everyone is embarrassed by me now,” I retort with a humorless laugh. I flick some ash off of my cigarette, watching it fall like snow to the concrete beneath me. “Since people found out, they’re hiding like it’s fucking contagious.”

Now it’s Mikey’s turn to laugh. “Being gay isn’t contagious, Frankie.”

I make a vague sound of agreement. “Your brother seems to think differently.”

Mikey sighs heavily and shakes his head. “My brother is an insecure jackass. You of all people know that. You used to know him better than anyone.”

“ _Used to_  being the operative words there,” I point out. I raise the cigarette to my lips and frown. I decide I’m done with this conversation and push off the wall, dropping the fag to the ground and grinding it under my foot. And I’m done with dancing around the subject. I turn to face Mikey and cross my arms. “If you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, then why don’t we hang out anymore? You barely even talk to me.”

Mikey looks down, actually looking embarrassed this time. He squirms under my gaze and shrugs. “Because he’s my brother,” He finally admits in a small voice. “Because when you started fighting--”

“You mean when Gerard started hating me,” I correct. “I never did shit to him.”

Mikey sighs again and meets my eyes, looking nothing more than apologetic. “I had to take a side,” He continues. His voice has a defensive edge to it now. “I know he’s a jackass and he’s an idiot, but he’s my brother.”

I bite down on my lip and feel a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the weather. I know that Mikey is right in choosing his brother’s side-- I would have done the same thing-- but it stings to hear the truth. So I force another smile. “Well it was nice talking to you again,” I admit. “But I’ve gotta get back to work. And Gerard is probably wondering where you are.” And with that, I turn away from Mikey and go back inside, leaving him to finish his cigarette alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_“I hate this movie,” He remarks, but a small smile is still forming on his pale lips. He glances over at me and quirks an eyebrow. “How the hell do you actually like this shit?”_

_“Simple,” I reply, bouncing on the mattress and shoving a finger toward the remote. “It’s amazing. Now turn it on, bitch.”_

_Gerard groans again, but grabs the remote and hits play._

_There’s a vague sense of deja vu about this, like I’ve been here before. I’ve said these words, I’ve seen those expressions. An ominous air hangs around me, like a breeze that tickles my skin, sending shivers down my spine, but no goosebumps arise. And there’s a minute section of my brain that realizes this is a dream, but I do nothing to wake up. Because dreaming is the only way I’m ever going to have this feeling again; This weightless, happy, carefree entity that seems to ball in my stomach and spread to my fingers and toes._

_I can’t help but watch Gerard as the beginning scene plays across the screen; It’s simple fuzz on the television for all I care. The movie isn’t an important part of this memory, this recurring dream of that dreadful night that started a series of unfortunate events all spiralling and sending my life spinning out of control._

_Gerard glances up at me after a minute, catching me staring and smirking a little. “What?”_

_I bite down on my lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, but I feel nothing in the dreaming state. I’m shaking again, just like that night. My heart is pounding too hard against my ribcage and I feel like I might throw up. “I have a confession,” I admit. My voice trembles with an anxious excitement. “It’s kind of hard to just spit out, you know? But… I think…”_

_Gerard watches me with a patient, curious gaze. It feels like there’s a lump stuck in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry and I lick my lips. “You think…?” He prompts._

_His hazel eyes seem to be staring right through me, past the layers of skin and bone straight into my core. Like he sees something that no one else does, and I shake my head. “I don’t think,” I blurt out. “I know. I fucking know…”_

_But Gerard still doesn’t understand. I barely understand anymore. I can’t seem to comprehend anything beyond the look in his eyes, the feeling in my chest, the desire and the desperation and the fear. And I close the distance between us. My lips meet his in a what I remember as a slow, tentative kiss. The moment drags on for me, though it must only last two seconds. It’s enough to have my lips tingling and my mind spinning and my stomach clenching because that’s the moment that I_ did  _know._

_Gerard pushes me away, his eyes wide. He’s speechless, which gives me the time I need to swallow the taste of him and release a heavy breath. “I fucking know, Gee. I’m in love with you.”_

_But then he’s shaking his head. His expression turns to one of utter disgust and he’s stumbling out of the bed, away from me, leaving the mattress cold in his absence. He wipes a hand across his mouth, erasing the taste of the kiss, and I can feel my heart sink once again. Just like that night. “What the fuck is your problem, Frank?!” He demands. He’s suddenly furious. “You’re a fucking faggot now?”_

_The scene around me changes, swirling around his face as everything else is lost in the dark. All I see is his disgust, his absolute horror, and his words echo through my dream, shocking my body and making me feel numb._

_Fucking faggot…_

_Fucking faggot…_

I’m jerked upright in bed. My bare chest is covered in a sheen layer of sweat and my heart is pounding audibly in my ears. I feel close to tears, but I manage to swallow them down and let out nothing more than a near silent exhale. Glancing over to Bob’s side of the room, I see the uneven outline of his body under the sheets, but the darkness distorts it too much to see details. I can tell he’s still asleep and silently slip out from under my own blankets.

Down the hall, I lock myself in the bathroom. The house is dead quiet this late at night-- I don’t know the exact time, but the sky is still black as pitch letting in only the silver glow of the moon. The memory of that night is burned like a scar into my mind, swollen and obvious no matter what I do to erase it. It haunts my dreams on occasion, just like tonight, and deprives me of sleep. Bob knows I still recall it from time to time, but says nothing when I do; He knows it’s painful for me, but it’s more than that. It’s infuriating. It pisses me off that I professed my love to Gerard, and he rejected me. He ruined my life and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t care enough to.

And what pisses me off the most is that I can’t bring myself to  _stop_ caring.

**A/N: Short chapters! Woo! I’m kind of excited about this story now that I’ve actually started it. I’ll hopefully be updating more often, so if you guys like it make sure to let me know!**

**Fucking love you. xoRachel**


	5. Today Is The Greatest Day.

“Admit it, Frank--” Bob nudges me, meeting my gaze with glimmering blue eyes. “You’re excited.”

I swallow down my nerves, trying my best to calm the stuttering in my chest when my heartbeat accelerates. At this rate, I’m going to have a heart attack before we even board the plane. I offer Bob a measly shrug, not letting him know if he’s right or wrong. In all honesty, I am excited; I’m going to Las Vegas with my best friend.

As of yesterday, I am officially graduated-- I’d skipped the actual ceremony, going only to watch Bob walk across and biting down not so gently on my lip when Gerard sauntered across the stage looking like he fucking owned the place. The sight of him made me sick, but I’d clapped for Mikey and wolf whistled for Bob, earning a half hearted glare and a subtle middle finger. Bob wasn’t very happy that I’d decided not to walk with him, but I would have felt too out of place. No one was there to see me, my parents hadn’t talked to me in months after kicking me out, and standing onstage with a hundred kids who hated me wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. Besides, why would I want to waste my money on a gown I would wear once and then shove into the back of a closet for the rest of my life? So I figured I would fuck it-- They could mail me my diploma.

Now, as the large group of us stand around the airport, I can’t deny the small amount of excitement I feel swelling inside my gut. Brian had nearly flipped shit when I asked for two weeks off from work, and I knew myself that I would regret that decision after getting my paycheck, but he’d finally agreed when I explained that it was for my senior class trip. It made it even better when I promised that, when I got back, I was available as a full time employee.

“Alright everyone!” The teacher who was chaperoning us on the trip, a middle-aged woman whom I’d never personally had as a teacher-- I think Bob called her Ms. Herman-- waves her arms around. In her hand, she holds a clipboard and pen. “Last check before they call our flight-- I need everybody to pay attention. Does everyone have their boarding passes?” I’m holding my own in my clammy grip, my knuckles white. Bob looks over at me, just to make sure, and I raise it so he can see. I feel like he’s babysitting me suddenly, but I don’t argue. There’s no way I could do this alone.

When a round of yes’s echoes through the group, Ms. Herman nods. “Okay, good. You’ll need to have those ready for when we board. Now when we arrive, a bus is going to take us straight to the hotel we’ll be staying at. I know you’re all eighteen, but buddy system is a must, guys!” She looks around, meeting each of our eyes in turn for emphasis. “I don’t want anybody lost or left behind on this trip. I have a roster of everyone here, which I’ll check again when we land and then once more before we pair off for rooms. After that, you guys are basically free to roam for the next ten days. And I know that it’s Vegas, but it’s still in America-- Alcohol is still illegal, so are drugs, and so is gambling. If I find out that anyone isn’t following those rules, your parents will be contacted and you will be sent home immediately. Understood?” Another round of yes’s, and a few grumbled complaints, sound again. “Good. Now this trip is meant to be fun and, for a lot of you, it’s your first real taste of freedom. But just be smart about it. Don’t get arrested because I’m not bailing you out. Any questions?”

A few people start moving forward, asking about specific hotel details and meal schedules, which the fat load of money we all ponied up is going for, but I turn to Bob, uninterested. He’s already grinning down at me. He’s basically vibrating with excitement. “Are you excited?” He wonders for the millionth time.

I roll my eyes and let out an uneasy sigh. “I’ll be a lot more excited when we land.”

“We haven’t even taken off,” He points out, and I groan. I’ve never flown, though I know Bob has a few times. He waves a hand at my nerves, dismissing all of my concerns and worries that the plane will crash and we will all die. “Seriously, don’t worry. It’s five hours. It’s a relatively short flight and there are no stops. You can sleep the whole time.”

I try to take comfort in that, but I doubt I’ll ever actually fall asleep with the thought of crashing on my mind the whole time.

When we board the plane fifteen minutes later, I follow Bob to our seats. He takes the window seat, telling me that if I feel queasy, I can stand up and move around. The thought of walking around on a moving plane terrifies me even more and I make him move so I can sit near the window. But after I look out only a second later to see the runway stretching out beneath the plane, I change my mind and make him switch again.

I feel exhausted when we all stagger into the lobby of the hotel. I’ve been watching the sights pass by in blurring lights, the sound of a city that never sleeps echoing through my ears and reverberating straight to my core. I have to admit-- I am excited. But the excitement is drowned out with the beckoning pull of sleep, which Bob explains is probably just the jet lag, and I can’t wait to fall into an unfamiliar bed and pass out until tomorrow morning. Tomorrow, Bob and I have decided we’re going to start exploring.

“Okay, everybody over here!” Herman calls, gesturing with her arms to the center of the lobby. On the main desk is a line of keycards, two for each room, and the clipboard with our names. “I know you’re all excited, but first I need to make sure everyone is here. Rooms will be assigned, and then you will be set loose.” I lean against Bob, sighing heavily and waiting to hear my own name be announced.

Names are rattled off in a monotonous voice, cards handed out, until I hear my own. “Frank Iero--” I look up, meeting Ms. Herman’s gaze. She smiles, handing me a card and then looking back down at her list. “You’ll be sharing a room with…. Gerard Way.”

And suddenly, sleep is the last thing on my mind. I feel my blood run cold, freezing in my veins and halting all of my other movements. I catch Bob’s eyes first-- He looks apologetic and maybe like he wants to punch someone-- before I hear Gerard’s reaction. He groans, a look of disgust twisting his smooth features. “No way,” He shakes his head. “I’m not rooming with him.”

I nod, pointing an accusatory finger at Gerard, who stands a few feet away, and begging Ms. Herman with my eyes. “I agree with the asshole,” I reply. “There’s no way in hell I’m rooming with him.”

Gerard scoffs, clearly offended by my remark, but he doesn’t argue. Right now, we both want the same thing.

But Ms. Herman frowns, handing the second card over, regardless of our protesting. “I’m sorry, boys,” She says, sounding far from apologetic. “Rooms were picked at random and it’s too late to change now. You’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“But he’s a fag!” Gerard nearly shouts, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “Everybody here knows that. I don’t want him fucking with me when I’m sleeping.”

Ms. Herman’s gaze hardens on Gerard, her eyes narrowing. “This is my only warning, Gerard,” She levels a pen at his chest for emphasis. “Derogatory actions and language will not be tolerated. If you cannot politely room with Mr. Iero, let me know now and I will notify your parents to book your flight home.”

Gerard’s mouth falls open a little. He wants to argue more, maybe call a few more names, some directed at her this time, but his jaw clenches. Mikey steps forward, grabbing onto Gerard’s shirt and dragging him back into the crowd. I can hear his whispered, “Don’t be an asshole,” directed at his brother and feel a small smile form on my lips, only for a moment before I realize what this means; I’m stuck with Gerard as a roommate for the next ten days and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.

Bob helps me lug my two bags to the room I’ll be sharing with Gerard. I throw them into the corner of the room, choosing a bed before Gerard has a chance to, and sit down heavily. “I’m just down the hall,” Bob informs me. Still, he doesn’t sound at all pleased with the rooming situation. “And it’s only at nights. During the day, we’ll be out. We won’t even see him. But if he bothers you, even looks at you funny, you’ll let me know and--”

“You’ll do what, Bob? You’ll kick my ass?” Bob turns his fuming attention to Gerard, who stands in the doorway looking emotionless. He rolls his eyes and drops his suitcase onto the second bed.

Bob’s chest puffs out and he goes all alphamale for a second, glaring at Gerard. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

Gerard stands there, arms wide, like a fucking invitation to kick his ass. There’s even a sadistic smile on his lips and I can’t decide if I want to punch him or kiss him. The choice is pretty clear for Bob though as his hands ball into fists and he takes a step closer before I jump up, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to a stop. “No,” I command. I step in front of him, both of my hands flat against his chest, pushing him back a bit. “You kick his ass and you’ll get sent home. I’m not explaining to your parents why you lasted all of twenty minutes in Vegas before getting kicked off the trip.”

Bob looks down at me, his expression softening. He shrugs in defeat, his jaw still tight when he glances over my shoulder at Gerard. “Like I said, I’m right down the hall. Leave him the fuck alone or I will kick your ass.”

Gerard nods, waving a hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m shaking in terror.”

I give Bob one more “please don’t kill him” look before he disappears from the room and Gerard and I are left alone in the silence. As soon as the door is shut, Gerard scoffs, already rifling through his bags. “Your boyfriend always this touchy?” He wonders absently. “Or has something got his panties in a twist?”

I glare at him, though he’s not watching me. I’ve decided I want to punch him, but instead settle with attempting murder with my scowl. “Fuck you.”

Gerard hesitates and shoots me a cautious glance, covered almost instantly with his returning cockiness. “What’s wrong, Iero? He still in the closet? Doesn’t wanna hold your hand in public?”

“Bob’s not gay,” I retort, folding my arms stiffly across my chest. “He’s just not some homophobic asshat. He’s not scared to be my friend anymore.”

Gerard snorts, quirking an eyebrow at me. “I was never afraid to be your friend,” He admits. “I just didn’t want the baggage that came with it. I was fine being your friend until you decided to fucking jump my bones and cop a cheap feel.”

“It was never fucking like that!” I yell. I feel angry tears in my eyes suddenly, blinking them back. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t let him see the effect he still has on me, even after all this time. Instead, I resort back to my air of arrogance, playing along with the illusion he created, the delusion that I was obsessed with him, the reason I’m a freak. After I had kissed him that first time in his room, he’d started avoiding me. And people were taking notice of the way he deliberately ignored me in the halls or in class and when they asked him why, he told them all the same thing;  _“Frank’s fucking crazy. Practically attacked me. Seriously, tried to shove his hand down my pants or something. I’m not into that shit.”_

“We should have angry sex,” I tell him, lowering my voice to a faux seduction. “Hot, passionate, loathing sex. I’d let you fuck me. You can even call me Iero, tell me how much you don’t like me. You can pretend it’s true and I’ll pretend that you still have some degree of empathy left in you.”

Gerard is watching me, his jaw tight. His eyes are narrowed. But his expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions playing across his features. I simply smile at him, deliberately biting down on my lip. “Think about it,” I say. “And if you get lonely, you know where to find me.” I wink before stripping off my shirt and climbing into bed, not bothering to remove my jeans. Despite my previous exhaustion, I don’t fall asleep right away. Instead, I wait awhile until I hear Gerard climb into his own bed, the lights going off. It’s a little longer after that, when I’m sure that he’s fallen asleep, that I let myself cry.

**A/N: Okay, I know that Gerard is a complete douchebag as of now, but he will get nicer eventually. I swear.**

**Fucking love you. xoRachel**


	6. Why The Hell Not?

** [A/N: Confession time; I’ve never been to Vegas. My knowledge is limited. I make up basically everything.] **

_Day One._

Bob follows behind me, grabbing at every edible dish he can find on the long buffet while I skim the contents for anything that looks like it doesn’t have meat. So far, my breakfast plate consists of an orange, a half a slice of apple, and what I believe is a cinnamon roll. When we’ve reached the end, I frown at my plate and let Bob lead me to a vacant table near a few of the other kids who have woken up this early to claim food before they start exploring the city. Gerard isn’t among them, though I see Mikey seated a few tables away, poking a muffin. He’s alone.

I nudge Bob and point a finger in his direction. Bob looks up, sees the figure I’m gesturing to, and shakes his head. “Nope.”

I sigh. “Come on, he used to be my friend.”

“Yeah,” Bob says around a bite of food, being courteous enough to swallow before continuing. “Gerard used to be your friend, too.”

I glare at him for only a second and then grab my plate and move toward Mikey. Bob groans loudly, but when I sit down with Mikey he’s right beside me. Mikey looks up and a smile twitches on his lips. “Hey.” He stops dissecting his food long enough to take a bite, glancing between Bob and I curiously. I offer a smile, but silence falls heavily on the table until Mikey clears his throat. “A couple of us are going down to check out the Mob Museum in a few hours, maybe see the Strip, and then we’re thinking about hitting up Hard Rock to see whatever local band is playing tonight. Do you guys wanna come with?”

I glance over at Bob, who shrugs indifferently. It’s not like either of us really had a plan for today. So I nod and dig a nail into my orange peel. “Yeah, totally.”

Mikey smiles again and this time when the silence falls, it doesn’t feel as pressuring. It feels sort of like it used to.

It’s not until Mikey, Bob, and I are walking up the steps to the Mob Museum that it occurs to me to even ask who else will be joining us on our adventures. At that point, Mikey grimaces with an evasive shrug. “Just a couple friends.”

I realize who those “friends” are just as I hear Gerard’s voice. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Near the entrance of the museum, Gerard is leaning against the wall with a cigarette between two fingers. A frown creases his lips. Beside him, I recognize a few of his other friends-- One with crazy curly hair, Ray I think, and one who looks like he just crawled out of a sewer, with stringy black hair and dark circles under his wide blue eyes. Ben or Buck or something like that. Regulation class stoner-- I’m surprised he’s even graduated, but right now that’s the least of my concerns.

“Bert,” Gerard nudges the greaser. Oh. Bert. That’s it. “Here.” He hands over his half finished cigarette, taken gratefully by the other boy, and I feel a twinge of jealousy. When we were sixteen, Gerard and Mikey and I used to sit around Mikey’s room, passing around a single fag, each taking a drag of the seductive nicotine. It was before any of us were actually old enough to pick up the habit legally and relied on casual stolen cigarettes, shared between us.

Gerard comes to stand before his brother, arms folded against his chest in a defiant manner. He jerks his head in my direction. “Why is he here?”

I roll my eyes. “To piss you off, obviously.”

Mikey choses to ignore my response and settles with an indifferent shrug. “He came to see the museum.”

Gerard frowns, casting a glance and twisted snarl my way. It amazes me how he used to be my best friend and now he can’t seem to even look at me for longer than a second. I hope it’s the guilt that eats him alive every time he sees my face, like somehow he knows the hell he put me through.

When everyone found out I was gay, I never actually made the conscious decision to come out of the metaphorical closet. I was shoved out. Dragged kicking and screaming, digging my nails into the wooden door-frame because I was not ready to really step over that threshold. After I kissed Gerard, he was the one that grabbed ahold of me and pushed me out of the closet. The kiss was supposed to be a secret, it was supposed to be something special between the two of us because he was my best friend and I loved him and I wanted him to be the first to know, the only one to know. But that backfired, and he ended up spreading the rumor like a wildfire and Smokey The Bear was on break-- I was left to fend for myself. At first I blatantly denied the rumors. When that didn’t work, I moved on to just ignoring them. That didn’t work either. After so long, I couldn’t take it anymore. And it felt freeing to finally break the closet door and feel the fresh air as I stepped out. But that fresh air was met with a fist to the face because my coming out was like confirmation of the rumors. Suddenly I was the freak who wanted in Gerard’s pants, I was the pervert who was checking other guys’ asses in the locker room. Nobody wanted a queer near them when they were changing-- They all assumed since I liked dick, I wanted all of theirs, and I didn’t. Really. But what I said didn’t matter. And soon, people weren’t just avoiding me in the locker rooms. It was everywhere. No one wanted to sit next to me on the bus or in the cafeteria. I pretended not to notice when students started scooting their desks away from me in class. Teachers pretended not to notice, too. They didn’t notice the black eye I magically got between second and third period, or the way my hair dripped with ass-water after getting a swirly. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared.

I think back to the nights I used to spend on Mikey’s bedroom floor, looking at whatever new comic Gerard had decided to show us. I remember sitting up on Gerard’s bed to watch movies and how he would commentate his favorite parts with useless trivia facts while Mikey groaned and told him to shut up. So he would scoot closer to me and mumble so low that Mikey wouldn’t be disturbed, but I could hear whatever he was saying, feel the heat of his breath against my ear. And now, he can’t even stand to look at me. He treats me like I’m some sort of virus he’s afraid to catch. Like my gay is contagious.

I step forward, ignoring his glare and the way he almost visibly cringes away when I enter his personal space. I stay only an inch or so away, not daring to touch him, afraid of what the contact would do to me. The sudden spark I’m too scared to feel. Still, I smirk and lower my voice. “Don’t worry, Gee. Your ass is safe in public. I’ll wait until we’re alone tonight to defile you.” I wink before pulling away and brushing past him, continuing up the stairs. I see his jaw clench, his spine rigid, but he says nothing.

We pay for the tickets separately, Bob buying both my own and his, and then Mikey and his brother, and the others follow suit. I stick close to Bob’s side, feeling safer between his body and the wall. Gerard and his friends saunter slowly behind us so I don’t think I’m in any immediate danger of being pummeled, but still. It makes me feel safe to know Bob is there. He watches the pictures on the wall above my head as we walk, skimming each one but not really pausing to look. He seems to be focusing his thoughts elsewhere when he shoves his hands into his pockets and nudges me with his shoulder. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” He tells me. His voice is low, only for me to hear.

I smile in response and nudge him back. “Not when you’re here to protect me.”

He rolls his eyes but I see the minute smile on his lips as we pass by a picture of Al Capone brandishing a Tommy Gun. “I can only help so much when you keep poking him like this, Frankie,” Bob says. He finally tears his eyes away from the pictures to give me a stern look, the smile still present and making his words less intimidating. “Gerard is an asshole. I get it. But why do you keep saying shit like that to piss him off even more?”

I frown. I try not to, but my lips just kind of turn downward without my approval at his question. I lower my voice, too. “He took everything from me,” I remind Bob. “He took my friends and my parents and the option to come out on my own terms. He took all of that. You saw me after they kicked me out, you’re the one who found me on that park bench, remember? I can’t let Gerard see me like that. If he sees me like that, game over. He wins. He gets what he wanted. I’m not going down without a fight. If he wants to make me seem like some perverted fuck who was trying to grab his junk-- when all I did was fucking kiss him-- then fine. I’m going to be a perverted fuck just like he said because it pisses him off more.”

Bob sighs, scratching his beard. “The worst part is that that makes sense.” He sighs again, a long suffering noise that sounds more like a groan than an exhale of breath. “Fine. Okay, piss him off to your heart’s content, alright? But just be careful. You know I will protect your ass from being handed to you, but he hurt you once, Frankie. He can do it again.”

I shake my head, my jaw stiffening. “I’m not letting myself get close to him again,” I promise.

Bob doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and nudges me again. I return this with another nudge of my own, but only succeed in tripping myself when he steps away and I almost fall on my face but Bob reaches out and steadies me. He snorts out a laugh and almost backs into another wall of pictures. The almost-incident makes us laugh even harder when I have to grab his arm and pull him away from the framed photos and we end up leaning against each other, giggling hysterically. The laughing lasts a minute before I feel a shoulder against my back, shoving me out of the way and farther into Bob’s chest. I look behind me just in time to see Gerard’s black hair as he brushes past us. His lips are twisted up in a disgusted snarl of a sort. “Fucking fags…” He grumbles, and like a lightning bolt the memory of That Night comes back to me. The night that Gerard started hating me.

Fucking faggot.

It echoes in my ears again, sounding louder than it should. It feels like my throat is constricting, my chest expanding and swelling, aching and pulsing. Instantly, Bob’s hand in on my arm. He’s leaning close. There’s a fire behind his blue eyes, mingling with concern in the icy gaze. Before he has a chance to say anything, Mikey is on my other side. His shoulder bumps mine and he frowns. “Ignore him,” He mutters, looking after his brother with disdain. “He says shit like that in front of his friends because he thinks it makes him look cool.” He chuckles softly, unamused, before averting his gaze to the floor and mumbling, “Fucking hypocrite actually tries to watch out for me. Crazy right? He calls you a fag, but then tells me not to tell other people because they’ll call me one, too.”

I feel my brow crease, watching Mikey in confusion. “What do you mean, he tells you not to tell other people?” Mikey pretends not to hear me, his eyes staying on the ugly carpeted ground. It looks almost purple under the toe of my Converse, but somehow green and brown at the same time. A gold swirly pattern adorns the mesh of colors. We walk slowly, leisure, our heads bent close together. I can see Gerard and the others already down the hall, laughing about something I don’t care about. “Mikey,” I say softly. It’s a pretty sensitive question and it feels even more secretive with the way he awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets and watches his feet. “Mikes, why would anyone call you a fag?”

Mikey looks up then and a smile graces his lips. He lets out a short breathy chuckle and rolls his shoulders like it doesn’t even matter. “Because I am,” He admits. He looks down again. Another shrug. He sighs. “Look it’s kind of a long story.” He glances up ahead at the group, biting his lip. “Can we talk about it later? We can get lunch after we leave here.”

I don’t want to drop the subject so easily, but I don’t want to press it either. If Mikey is being serious, then I know more than anyone that it’s a touchy subject. If he doesn’t want to profess his sexuality to me and Bob in the middle of a Mob Museum, I’ll respect that.

Still, the idea is in the back of my mind as the three of us continue silently through the rest of the building. A few times, one of us will point out something we find extra interesting but most of the walk is quiet.

Two hours later, Bob, Mikey, and I are sitting down on a shaded patio outside of some Italian restaurant. It’s pretty crowded and I can’t tell if it’s due to the lunch hour, the fact that it’s summer, or if it’s always this way in such a busy city. The patio is clearer than inside, though, and a few vacant tables sit around us. When we’ve ordered our separate meals, I occupy myself with sipping at my Coke. Mikey fidgets for a few minutes, seemingly trying to get comfortable but unable. Eventually he sighs heavily and his elbows come to rest on the glass tabletop.

“I’m not gay,” Is the first thing he says. But quickly, he shrugs uncertainly and adds, “I like guys, but I like girls, too.”

“Bisexual,” I offer the term up easily.

Mikey nods. He’s quiet a little longer, but I wait patiently. “I figured it out about the same time you did, actually,” His lips fall into a flat line and it’s almost like he shuts down. The infamous MikeyWay poker face, void of any emotion he might be feeling right now. “Rumors were already swirling about you, Frank. Everybody at school was talking about it, about how you tried to attack my brother and grabbed his junk.” I open my mouth to protest, but a small smile graces his lips and he shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I never believed the rumors and I know they’re not true.” His poker face returns and he looks down at his hands. He trails his finger across some gathering condensation on his cup. “Anyway, I had a crush on his friend, Ray. I told Gerard about it and he just… freaked out. He told me I couldn’t tell anyone unless I wanted to end up like you. And I saw it at school, how everyone just started avoiding you, making fun of you, beating you up.” He looks up then and there’s a pleading look in his hazel eyes. They remind me of Gerard’s eyes, but with a little more humanity. “I was fifteen,” He continues, sounding desperate. “I was scared. I didn’t want to end up being the school’s freak just because I liked a boy. So I did just as Gerard told me; I kept my mouth shut. I never told anyone. I stayed away from you. I even got a girlfriend for a little while.” Mikey sighs heavily and leans back in his seat. He looks apologetic and exhausted when he frowns at me. “But it’s getting fucking old, you know? We’re graduating. Belleville is just some petty little town in a petty little state but High School is even more petty. It’s stupid that we even had to worry about getting bullied, and you dealt with it for two years. But we’re done.We’re leaving High School. We made it.” He’s smiling at me now, a grin spreading across his face. “In three months, I’m moving to Chicago. Gerard is going to New York. Bert and Ray and Bob and you, you’re all going somewhere else where it doesn’t matter if you’re gay. So I figured that I’m done hiding it. I like guys. And girls!” He laughs. He seems high on life for a second and I envy the feeling-- The freedom of coming out on his own terms, the feeling I never got to experience because Gerard took it away from me. “And Frankie, we are in Las Vegas. Fucking Vegas! And tonight, we’re going to Hard Rock and I’m going to pick up a guy. A really hot guy. And I’m gonna blow him, just because I fucking can.” Mikey shrugs then. “Hell, maybe I’ll pick up a girl, too. We’ll have a threesome because why the hell not?”

And it seems so simple, I don’t get it for a second. Mikey is happy and he’s smiling, he’s finally telling someone the truth about his sexuality and it’s freeing. And I don’t understand his logic until it reverberates through my head and I repeat it a few times to myself; We’re graduating. We’re done with High School. I’m done being bullied for being gay. And maybe I don’t know what I’m doing in three months, whether it be going to college in another state or still selling popcorn at the local theater. But I know, at least for the next ten days, I am going to make the most of it. I want to be high on life like Mikey. I want to be carefree and open and not care what anyone says because WHY THE HELL NOT?

…

Las Vegas really never sleeps. As the sun begins setting over the distant Nevada desert skyline, the lights start flashing on. Neon green and purple signs for strip clubs or bars, flickering yellow and red letters advertising various museums and churches; Only in vegas would a church be considered a tourist attraction, I suppose.

The Hard Rock was no different than the rest of the lively city, alight and full of excitement when we walked up the front steps. A giant guitar greeted us on the outside wall as people seemed to constantly stream in and out of the doors.

Inside, the lights flashed vibrant blue and blinding white. Music was already blasting through the speakers and the crowd was swarming, dancing, ebbing and throbbing together as one entity. I felt the electricity prick at my arms, raising goosebumps with the thrill of the place. Bob grabbed onto my arm and led me through a crowd to a bar. He’s been prepared obviously as he flashed the bartender a fake ID and ordered the two of us beers.

We stayed together at first, too awkward and sober to actually move away from the bar. The band onstage was actually really good and, standing near the back, I saw it was a group of four guys. As I skimmed the crowd, I saw a few faces I recognized from school. I noticed Bert, his stringy hair still looking unwashed and even sweatier in the heat of the place, as he grinded against a girl who didn’t look familiar. Across the dance floor was Gerard-- I couldn’t really tell who he was dancing with, as he switched partners quickly and easily from one to the next. And even farther toward the wall, I saw Mikey. His hair was sticking up all over, but that could be due to the fact that there was a man pulling it. Mikey had the strange guy pushed flat against himself and they were currently shoving their tongues down each others throats, swaying with the crowd as they kissed.

Bob got the courage to enter the dance floor next. I watched him from the bar as he was almost instantly swallowed by the crowd, disappearing in the mass of bodies. I didn’t worry too much when I saw him a few minutes later, dancing and smiling at a small blonde girl.

I stay at the bar a little longer, nursing my second beer. I’m moving a bit to the music when a stranger sidles up beside me. Only a few inches taller than I am, he leans against the bar so we’re the same height. His black hair is disheveled but his snake-bite lips stretch into a grin. “I would offer to buy you a drink, but I see I’m too late for that.” His green eyes flick to the beer in my hand and he smirks. “Someone as cute as you should not be standing at the bar by yourself.” He states and I feel my chest ache. Holy fuck, this attractive man is flirting with me. “I’m Zacky.”

“Frank,” I reply. I stick out my hand, but then feel stupid. Still, Zacky shakes it, but he doesn’t let it go. I don’t think I want him to.

He leans a little closer and his green eyes glimmer in the blue and white lights around us. “Do you wanna dance?”

I feel shaky and nervous and my body is vibrating with the thrill because I’m actually doing it. I’m standing here, talking to an attractive man who is flirting with me. I abandon my beer on the bar and nod. Zacky’s hand remains in mine, his fingers entwining with my own as he leads me into the crowd. Bodies press around me, but Zacky’s is even closer. It’s kind of awkward at first, having his chest against mine when I only learned his name two minutes ago, but there’s something about the way he’s watching me. He’s so sure of his movements and I realize he’s probably done this before. He’s probably never had to hide who he was. He’s been with men. And the most I’ve ever done was attempt to kiss Gerard.

I push Gerard from my thoughts now and focus on Zacky, the way he’s moving with the crowd to the beat of the drums. I try to mimic his actions close enough to not embarrass myself. His hands seem to be everywhere. First he holds my own hands, and then we press even closer and his hands settle on my waist, and a minute later to my ass. I don’t know what to do with my own hands. I kind of panic for a second before I reach around Zacky’s neck, letting my hands rest there. Even with his body pressed flat against me, I don’t think it’s an accident when I feel his hips grind against mine. The friction makes me gasp and as soon as my lips part, Zacky is diving in to kiss me. It feels so foreign and scary and sexy to have his hands on my ass, pulling me close as he ruts against me, his lips encompassing my own. His tongue slips into my mouth and without really realizing it, I’m moaning. He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes and it’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. I find myself craving more, getting my own tongue into the action. Without conscious decision, my hands move on their own accord to twist in Zacky’s hair. I feel more than hear him moan when I tug on a few strands.

It continues on like that for a few songs. The music falls together in indistinguishable sounds in the background of my mind, the only thing clearly running through my head is to get more of Zacky. I begin to grind back against him, whimpering a little when I feel the front of his jeans bulging. It gives me a sense of pride, knowing I caused the growing hard-on underneath. And it feels urgent, now more than ever, to keep going. To feel every inch of Zacky against me, to know what else I can do to him. Keeping one hand fisted in his hair, I let the other drop down between us. My fingers play with the waistband of his jeans and for the first time, I break the kiss. We’re both panting hard and his face is flushed, his lips red and swollen and parted and slick with MY SALIVA. I brush the palm of my hand across the bulge in his jeans and look up at him, biting down on my lip, conveying everything I want without having to use any words at all. Zacky says it instead. “You wanna get out of here?”

I can only nod. I’m practically vibrating with the tension, the terror and excitement racing through me. I’m really doing this. I’m leaving with a guy and nobody fucking cares. No one has called me a fag or tried to cringe away from Zacky and I. Right now, we’re just another couple in the crowd. “Let me tell my friend I’m leaving.”

Now Zacky nods and kisses me once more, this time more chaste than the other but with a silent promise lurking underneath. I can feel him watching me as I turn through the crowd, scanning for any sign of Bob. I see him near the bar again, still talking to the girl from before, and I start to head that way when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist. Sparks fly through me and I turn, prepared to see Zacky but my heart sinks when I’m met with Gerard’s wide hazel gaze instead.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He asks. He has to shout to be heard over the music, but his voice sounds incredulous.

I pull my arm out of his grasp and shake my head dumbly. “Leaving,” I inform him.

Gerard’s eyes widen even further. “With that guy?” He looks disgusted and I want to punch him right in the fucking face. But what stops me is the fact that Gerard saw me with Zacky, knew I was leaving with him. Had he been watching me? “Frank, you can’t be serious!” It makes my breath catch when I hear him say my name, calling me Frank again after all the time I had been just Iero. It doesn’t sound like him, doesn’t sound like a sneer the way he usually mocks me. It sounds almost like concern. “You don’t even know him!”

“And?” I glare at Gerard. “Why do you care what I do?”

Gerard’s mouth stays open for a long time before he manages words. “Because,” He sputters out. “You’re leaving with some guy you don’t even know! What the hell are you thinking?”

I feel a smile pull on my lips and I shrug. I glance behind me to where Zacky waits at the bar, and then back to Gerard. “Why the hell not?” I say. The crowd surges then and Gerard is sucked back into the mass of bodies. I make my way to the back, finding Bob first and telling him that I’ll see him in the morning, and then over to Zacky.

His hands are on me again in an instant, arms wrapping around my waist while he buries his nose in the crook of my neck. He exhales slowly, trailing a few kisses over my neck and then across my jaw, to my ear where he lets out a low groan. “You ready to get out of here?”

I nod shakily and twist my fingers through his, leaning down to capture this complete stranger’s lips again and grin. “Definitely.”

**[Wow long chapter! Yay! Frank’s hooking up with Zacky Vengeance! Also Yay! Gerard is still an asshole and MikeyWay is bi! YAY!!! Fucking love you. xoRachel]**


	7. Light With A Sharpened Edge

_ Day Two _

The light is off when I stumble through the door, tripping over my own feet and literally falling into the hotel room. I manage to catch myself before my face meets the carpet, but a giggle escapes me. I bite down on my lip, remembering that Gerard is probably asleep and I should at least attempt to be quiet since it’s just past four in the morning. My head is fuzzy, swimming with that high on life feeling. I grin to myself.

Somehow, I get all the way across the room without killing myself or falling again in the darkness and flick on the bedside lamp. I glance back at the other bed, seeing Gerard sound asleep. The light shouldn’t bother him. I pull off my shirt and kick off my jeans, leaving the clothes in a pile next to my bed, then crawl under the covers. The blanket feels warm and inviting around me and I fall asleep easily.

 

I wake up some hours later to a strange sound. I groan and roll over, peering around the brightness to find the source of the noise. Across the room, Gerard is rather loudly scavenging through his suitcase, sighing heavily to himself every few moments. I blink at him and then the alarm clock on the nightstand that flashes 9AM. Great. I got a total five hours of sleep.

“Do you mind?” I grumble. My voice is thick with sleep but I do my best to glare at the man across the room.

Gerard’s actions pause and he looks over at me. He makes the weird shrugging gesture, shaking his head. “What?”

“It’s nine in the morning,” I reply dryly. “Shut the hell up.”

Gerard’s eyes narrow in return and he looks unamused. “Sorry,” He says, sounding far from apologetic. “Did I wake you from your beauty sleep, princess? It’s not my fault you didn’t finish with your boy toy until four AM.”

So he was awake when I came in last night… I roll my eyes, and then remember the night with Zacky. “We used to be best friends,” I tell Gerard with a sly smirk. “Two years ago, if one of us has gotten laid we would have been bragging to each other about it. We can still go back to that. Let me put some pants on and then you can braid my hair while I tell you the details.”

Slamming his suitcase shut, Gerard turns to fully face me. He crosses his arms stiffly. “I don’t want to hear about your cheap fuck,” He states. With his jaw set, the bone underneath seems more defiant. Sharp and straight, just like him. “You want to be a queer, I don’t care. But keep it in your pants and keep it to yourself.”

“Is that what you told Mikey when he came out to you?” Oh shit. I should not have said that. But the words are already out of my mouth and Gerard looks stunned for a split second before recovering quickly and animosity is taking it’s place. His hazel eyes look furious as they widen, his mouth falling open.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

I know I should keep my mouth shut-- Bob is right. I should not piss Gerard off. Pissing him off will help absolutely no one-- and this time I remain silent. By now, I’m sitting up on my bed, feeling vulnerable and kind of intimidated cowering under the thin sheets.

“You don’t know shit,” Gerard spits when I say nothing. His glare increases, his nostrils doing this flaring thing. He looks like a bull. A very attractive, angry bull. “Mikey’s not gay. He was confused.”

“He didn’t look confused last night when he had his tongue down some dude’s throat.” Fucking hell, I need to stop talking. Gerard takes an angry step closer.

“It’s none of your fucking business!” He yells. I know I must have hit something sensitive when I brought his brother into this, but now I just can’t seem to drop it. I’m poking the bear and the bear is fucking pissed, but I can’t seem to just run away. I want to grab on and twist the bear’s fur because I want to see him angrier.

I smirk, shrugging one shoulder. “Mikey thought it was my business. That’s why he told me that he’s bi. He told me that you were just trying to protect him.” I push the blankets off of myself and stand up. I’m in only my underwear but I don’t care right now. I glare at Gerard. “You told Mikey not to tell people that he liked guys because you knew they would make fun of him. When your brother came out, you told him it would be safer for him if he kept it to himself. So why did you tell everyone about me? I didn’t even get the chance to keep it to myself. You’re the one who made me come out! You’re the reason everyone found out I’m gay! You’re the fucking reason they all treated me like shit! So tell me, Gee, why didn’t you want to protect me like you protected Mikey?”

Gerard is staring at me, mouth agape, eyes panicked. He doesn’t look so defiant anymore but I’m fuming. After all this time, I think I deserve an explanation. I deserve to know why Gerard ruined my life, why he made me out to be some sort of freak while he kept his brother’s secret safe. I shove my hands against his chest, causing him to stumble back and fall onto his bed. Seeing him spread out on the crumpled sheets, arms and legs apart, vulnerable and sexy, I stop. In that second, I want nothing more than to climb on top of him and kiss him fiercely, take back the first kiss we had and replace it with something new, something better. I want to sit atop his hips and leave hickeys on his neck and I want to say those words again-- _I’m in love with you_.

I take a step back. I feel myself shaking when he sits up, watching me, but I can’t look at him. My gaze meets the ground. Gerard is silent for a long time and I can’t tell if the quiet is better or worse than any words he might say. I decide I don’t want to wait to find out. I storm into the attached bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I sit on the lid of the toilet for a few minutes and breathe in and out, trying to think about anything but what I just did-- what I _almost_ did.

I wanted to kiss him, more than anything. I wanted to pin him to the bed and make him love me like I still love him. I wanted to tear his fucking heart out and show him how it felt to have it ripped, still beating, from his chest and dangled in front of his beautiful face.

After a shower, I wrap a clean towel around my waist and mentally curse myself for not grabbing clothes in my fit of rage. But when I come out of the bathroom, the hotel room is empty and Gerard is gone.

…

“You don’t seem excited.” Bob pokes me with his fork. A smile is on his lips and he watches me with amusement. “You should be excited. You should be babbling details. I should be begging you to shut up, but you aren’t even talking. Come on, Frankie. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” I lie. I smile up at Bob, but it feels too fake and I settle with taking a bite of my apple to hide the grimace. My mind is still elsewhere, on the fight I had just an hour previous with Gerard. I don’t want to tell Bob about the argument because I know what he would say-- _“That’s what you get for pissing Gerard off. Do you want me to kick his ass?”_

“So then tell me what happened last night,” Bob presses again. We’re sitting in the cafe of the hotel, bustling with other guests who are stuffing their faces with a late breakfast before heading off on whatever adventures are planned for the day. “You left with that guy. What happened? Did you get his number?”

“No,” I admit. “But he got mine. And there’s really nothing to tell.” Bob doesn’t believe my lie and after a moment I sigh. There’s no escaping his probing. “He took me back to his apartment and we made out. He was all for dragging me into his bedroom and defiling me until I accidentally let it slip that I was a virgin, and then he kind of freaked out.”

Bob frowns, looking disappointed. “Wait, so you didn’t do it?”

“Oh no, we totally fucked.” I take another bite of food. I watch as Bob’s eyes widen and he throws his arms up in exaggeration. I laugh at the look on his face.

“What about ‘there’s nothing to tell’?” He exclaims.

I roll my eyes and swallow, taking a drink before saying, “Because do you really want to hear the gruesome details about my loss of virginity? Fine. It was messy and awkward and it was incredible and sexy and--”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Bob covers his ears and I laugh again.

“I told you there was nothing to tell,” I say. “You’re the one that kept asking.”

Bob shakes his head, putting a forkful of food into his face before saying, “So you had fun. Was it just a one time deal, or are you seeing him again?”

“I don’t know,” I admit with a small shrug. I hadn’t heard from Zacky since the night before, but he asked for my number. That has to mean something, right? Does the giving of numbers mean he wants to see me again? And if I do happen to see him again, would it just be another hookup, or could he actually want a real date? I want to voice my questions to Bob, but before I have the chance, Mikey is collapsing into the seat across from me. A bagel with one bite missing falls onto the table. I decide to turn my attention to him.

“Morning. Sleeping Beauty,” I welcome him. His hazel eyes are half-lidded and he chews on his bagel, looking mostly unconscious. “How was your night?”

“Long,” He replies, but a tired smile falls on his lips. “I got laid. Twice.”

Even Bob looks impressed. “Same person?”

Mikey nods, taking another bite and then grabbing my coffee. “This yours?” Without waiting for an answer, he downs half of the drink. When he sets it down again, he leans back in his chair. “Yeah,” He answers Bob. “I met this awesome dude at Hard Rock last night. His name’s Pete and I think I’m in love.”

I chuckle. “You’ve known him for twelve hours, Mikes. I don’t think it’s love just yet.”

“Probably not,” Mikey agrees. “But he was incredible. I spent the night at his place and he even drove me back here this morning before he went to work. He said he would call me tonight. He asked me out. Like on a date.” Mikey smiles again, looking euphoric. I envied him in that moment, how simple it was for him to find someone he liked, who liked him back. It was easy for them to just establish something as casual as a date. I glance at my phone again and frown when I realize Zacky hasn’t texted me.

“What about you, Frankie?” I look up at Mikey’s question, watching as he takes another bite of bagel. He stares at me with an expectant expression.

I allow myself to frown at him. “What does it mean if you have sex with a guy and then give him your number and he doesn’t text?” I ask.

Mikey thinks about it for a second, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “He asked for your number?”

I nod.

“But he didn’t offer to give you his number?” Mikey wonders.

And when the question is out of his mouth, I realize that it’s a bad sign. “I was a booty call,” I state.

Mikey grimaces. “Technically, you were just a fuck. You’re not a booty call unless he calls and asks for more of your booty.”

I toss my phone onto the table, sinking down in my chair. “Well that sucks.”

Mikey shrugs and steals more of my coffee. “Did you have fun last night?” He wonders. Begrudgingly, I nod because yeah, I did have fun. “Then it wasn’t a complete waste. You had sex with a really attractive guy. If he doesn’t call you, it’s his loss.”

Shrugging, I decide to silently agree. Zacky was the first guy I’d actually been with, but in all honesty I didn’t really see it going anywhere other than a bedroom with him. It was a one night stand. I could handle that.

Downing the rest of my coffee, I try to change the subject. “What do we have planned for today?” I wonder.

“Gerard wants to go to the Stratosphere,” Mikey speaks up. “I promised I would go with him since his friends are too pansy to go.”

Bob raises an eyebrow. “What the hell is the Stratosphere?”

“A hotel,” Mikey explains around bites of bagel. “On the top of the building, they have this thrill ride called the Big Shot. He saw it on the travel channel when we were like twelve and he’s been wanting to go ever since. Basically it’s this really tall pole that shoots riders like a hundred and fifty feet up in the air.”

Bob gapes at Mikey and then looks at me, his blue eyes wide. I can already tell what he’s decided before he says, “We are so going.”

 

I’d never really been afraid of heights until Bob and I peaked over the railing on top of the Stratosphere hotel, overlooking what must have been the entire state of Nevada. It felt freeing in a way, having the whole world spread out beneath me. Everything looked so small from up here, minute and insignificant. I was the one of top for once. But at the same time, it was terrifying. One wrong move would send me plummeting to my death below, free-falling in an instant through the heavy air.

I wrap an arm around Bob’s, pulling him closer to me. At the very least, if we both fell off the ledge, I could land on Bob’s body to soften the blow. Bob, seeming to sense my thoughts, backs away slightly. I trail behind him as he skips most of the line to find Mikey and Gerard near the front. Mikey hands over two tickets.

I thank him, taking mine. I cast nothing more than a quick glance at Gerard-- He ignores my presence, though I think that’s progress. Usually, he would make a sarcastic comment and call me a name, but now he just watches ahead of us to the people already on the ride. Tense silence falls on our little group of misfits and Mikey fidgets awkwardly for a minute.

When we finally reach the front of the line, they check our tickets one by one and direct us to our individual seats. There are four seats on each side of the square ride, a mess of rails and machinery up the center. I look upward, shielding my eyes from the blinding sun where the ride seems to almost disappear into the sky. My stomach drops.

Mikey hands over his ticket first and takes a seat on the far right, then Gerard next to him. The lady checking tickets grabs mine and before I have the chance to argue, I’m being directed to the next seat. Right beside Gerard.

Gerard looks at the vacant seat, then up at me. His face is void of emotion when I sigh and sit down next to him, pulling the strap down over my chest.

I jump when the ride jolts to life, clicking and locking us in. I wiggle the safety bar just to make sure it doesn’t budge. I’m only slightly relieved when I don’t fall out. The ride jerks again, raising a few feet slowly into the air and then lowering an inch. Then it stops. I try to calm myself because I feel like I’m about to piss my pants and I don’t think the people below me would like that very much. I glance over at Bob, who is practically bouncing with excitement. He grins over at me.

I don’t have the chance to even smile back because suddenly we’re all going skyward. In only a second, we’re at the top. I don’t realize I’m screaming until we bounce straight back down and the sound reaches my ears. My heart is in my throat. It’s been only two seconds and we’re back at the bottom, my legs feeling weightless, but I’m ready to climb off. And then the ride shoots up again. I feel someone’s hand around mine, squeezing, but my mind doesn’t register who it belongs to. The only thing going through me is pure adrenaline. My head is spinning and I feel like I’m flying. A moment later, I realize I’m laughing.

I look to my side and nearly choke when I see who is there-- Gerard. He’s grinning like an idiot, his face kind of pink and his black hair is blown in every direction. I haven’t seen him like this in two years, happy and carefree and real. The Gerard I remember, the one I fell in love with. I realize it’s him that’s holding my hand.

Gerard looks over at me with the ride idling at the top. He catches my gaze and the smile slowly falls from his face, watching me intently, but his hand doesn’t leave mine. It seems to last forever, just gazing at each other. His lip shakes, as does his hand, and he opens his mouth to say something, but the words are lost when the ride starts to lower again. This time, we stop at the bottom and we’re unlocked. I scramble out instantly, wrenching my hand from his grasp.

Bob and Mikey, oblivious to my little emotional dilemma, are beaming. “That was fucking insane!” Bob exclaims, shaking my shoulders. “We should totally do that again!”

I look back to the growing line of ride-goers and shake my head. “Yeah, totally. Stay. Go again. I think I’m gonna head out, though.”

Bob frowns at me. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” I exclaim. I rack my brain for some believable excuse other than the truth-- Gerard touched my hand and now there’s butterflies in my stomach and the taste of bile in my mouth. “Umm… There’s this aquarium thing that I wanted to see. You probably wouldn’t be interested, it’s just a bunch of whales or some shit.” Bob doesn’t look convinced so I fake another smile. “Seriously, stay here and have fun. I’m gonna go look at seaweed and sharks. I’ll meet you back at the hotel later.”

Eventually, he gives in and nods. “Alright, cool. We’ll meet for dinner.”

I give a thumbs up and head down the stairs. I’m waiting for the elevator inside when Gerard comes up beside me. He says nothing for a long time, just watching the closed elevator doors, but I can feel him there. There’s a heat emanating off of him in the air conditioned hallway. I bite down on my lip and press the down button again. Where the hell is the elevator?

“That didn’t mean anything,” Gerard states after a moment of silence. I glance over, but he’s still looking at the doors. “When I grabbed your hand. It’s not like I suddenly want to jump your bones. You know that. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You sure?” I wonder. “My bones are ready to be jumped. Say the word, Gee, and my body is yours for the taking. You wanna make out in the elevator?”

Gerard turns to me, narrowing his eyes. “This is why we can’t be friends,” He says. His lips twist up and his brow furrows. “This is why I can’t fucking be around you. You’re an asshole.”

I laugh in his face. “I’m the asshole?” I ask. I take a single step closer to Gerard. My voice is barely above a whisper because if I talk any louder, I know I’ll start to scream. “I kissed you. I laid everything out. I told you the truth. That’s all I did. You’re the one that twisted it around.” I raise my arms wide, looking around the otherwise abandoned hallway. “There’s no one else here, Gerard. For once, could you drop the act? For me? Could you admit that you lied? Tell me the truth; Did I ever try to grab your junk? That’s what you told your friends, but tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me the fucking truth because, dammit, I deserve that much.” My voice shakes a bit. My lip trembles. Gerard is watching me with an expression I can’t really place. “For once, tell the truth; Did I try to cop a cheap feel when I kissed you that night?”

Gerard swallows visibly hard. He’s watching me like you watch a car wreck-- Like it’s something so terrible you can’t seem to tear your eyes away. “I’m not gay,” He states.

I shrug one shoulder. “Cool. Good for you. That wasn’t what I asked.”

Gerard sighs heavily and looks back the the closed doors. “Why does it matter?” He demands. “So what if I lied? You want the truth-- No, you didn’t fucking try to grope me. But you kissed me. That doesn’t make you any less of a fag.”

I shove Gerard. He stumbles and looks up, kind of surprised, so I shove him again. I push him against the wall next to the elevator. The doors finally ping and open, but I’m not moving and after a second, they close again and go off without us. I glare up at Gerard, my jaw set.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” I state, and then I’m pressing into him, kissing him harder than ever before. His hands are against my chest in an instant but he’s not pushing me back. His fingers are twisting in my shirt. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing-- My head is spinning because this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I know when this kiss breaks, Gerard is going to be pissed. He’s going to punch me. He’s going to tell his friends that I tried to jump him again. But right now I can’t find the capacity to care. His lips are on mine and I can taste the sweetness of his gum and the bitterness of his coffee. It sends sparks through me like never before-- This isn’t just a peck on the lips. This is _kissing_.

Gerard seems to realize this a little late. What feels like eternities later-- though it must have been over in a matter of seconds-- Gerard is pulling away. His lips are parted and slick with my saliva. I prepare myself to be pummeled to a pulp, but Gerard’s pupils are blown wide and he seems frozen. He looks like he’s about to cry. I don’t back away.

“Why did you do that?” He asks. His voice is rough and almost silent. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not.

“Because,” I reply. I wipe the back of my hand across my own lips, fighting to scrub away the remnants of his taste there. I take a step back. “I’m an asshole.”

Gerard is still frozen there when I find the emergency stair exit and start the long journey down.

 


	8. I'm Not Good With Directions And I Hide Behind My Mouth

_ Day Three _

“I hate him.” It’s a casual statement, nonchalant almost, emphasized by the way I fold my arms stiffly across my chest.

“Obviously,” Bob says around a bite of toast. He’s sitting across from me in the hotel cafe, scarfing breakfast. My own stomach could only hold an apple and even that made me feel sick. “You kissed him because you hate him.”

I narrow my eyes at my supposed best friend, frowning. He’s supposed to be agreeing with me, but the sarcasm is practically dripping from his lips. Instead of trying to explain my actions, I shrug. I don’t honestly know what I would say. I’m not exactly sure why I kissed Gerard yesterday and I don’t know why I’m telling Bob about it now. I guess I was sort of hoping he would help me make sense of the mess in my head, but so far he has been of no use. I decide to direct the subject away from my own actions, focusing on Gerard’s instead when I say, “He didn’t come back to the room last night.”

Bob quirks an eyebrow. “Were you waiting up for him?”

I roll my eyes and lean forward to rest my elbows on the dining table. “No. But… I don’t know.” I lower my voice, as well as my eyes. I watch the empty plate in front of me, the ugly paisley pattern on the tablecloth, anything but Bob’s steady gaze. “I’m an asshole,” I repeat the same words-- the _last_ words-- I said to Gerard yesterday after I’d kissed him, and then sigh. “He messes with my head, Bob. He gets inside my mind and he makes me doubt everything I feel and he doesn’t even know that he’s doing it. I don’t know why I kissed him. He put me through hell and I want so badly to hate him, but I don’t. I _can’t_. Maybe I did it because I like seeing him squirm. I like seeing him uncomfortable and angry and upset because it shows me that he’s still fucking human. I like knowing that he’s still _Gerard_.”

I finally look up to meet Bob’s bright blue gaze. There’s a sad frown pulling down on his lips and I can’t describe his expression as anything less than pitying. “You know he’s not the same guy you used to know, Frankie.” And it pisses me off to hear the softness of his voice speaking those harsh words. It hurts more than anything because it conveys what he’s really feeling-- He feels sorry for me. “Frank, it’s been two years. You think you still know the ‘real Gerard’ but people change. Maybe it’s time you move on.”

My eyes narrow and I find myself glaring across the table. “You think I haven’t tried to move on? Bob, I lost my fucking virginity to a stranger two nights ago because I was trying to move on. Before that, I was stuck in a hell hole we call High School. In case you’ve forgotten already, I was beaten up and made fun of every fucking day. There was no getting away from that.”

“I know,” Bob starts to say, but I interrupt him with another sharp glare.

“Do you?” I challenge. “I’ve told you the stories, but you have no idea what it’s like to always be the punchline of the joke. Literally. You don’t know how it feels to be shoved into a locker and trapped there for _two hours_ before the janitor comes to the rescue. You’ve never had your head held under toilet water until your lungs are full of it and you’d rather die than spend one more second under the water. You’ve never had to look your parents in the face-- your own fucking parents-- and know that they’re disgusted by your mere existence.”

“Okay,” Bob cuts me off. “I fucking get it, alright? Geez, Frank.” He looks physically pained, almost ill, and it’s only then that I realize there are tears gathering on the waterline of my eyes. I wipe a hand at them immediately, willing them away. _I won’t cry, dammit_.

Still, I sniffle and look down again. “Look, I get it,” I admit. My voice sounds wrecked all of a sudden and I feel exhausted. “You’re worried about me. And I’m grateful for that, I really am. I haven’t had someone care about me in a long time. But… Fuck, Bob. It’s still him. It’s Gerard. And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but you didn’t know him before all of this. He used to be my best friend. And I know you hate it, but I know that he’s still the guy I fell in love with.”

“So, what?” Bob prompts. He sounds kind of tired, too. Like he’s done arguing with me. “You plan on just pissing him off and kissing him the rest of your life? And then you die unhappy and alone? I don’t want that for you, Frankie. You deserve better than that.” I can hear the unspoken addition to his statement. _You deserve better than him._

I look up, lean back in my seat, and cross my arms again. “One more week,” I state. “Eight days, right? And then we go home. Do you remember what Mikey said? Gerard is moving to New York for college and I’m going back to Jersey to live out some minimum wage life working at the movie theater. With any luck, I’ll never face him again. This is my chance, Bob.”

“You’re chance to win him over?” Bob guesses, looking disbelieving.

I shake my head. “My chance to get closure. I think I deserve to know why he made my life a living hell, and I have eight more days to find out.”

“He’s not going to just tell you,” Bob argues. “It’s been two years and he’s still an asshole. You think you can just say, ‘ _Hey, Gerard, why did you put me through shit and throw me out of the closet?_ ’ and he’s just going to tell you?”

“Of course not,” I agree, and then force a fake smile and wink. “That’s why we haven’t been doing much talking.”

…

It’s not long after I go back to my room after breakfast when Mikey comes in. He’s got a keycard, which makes me smile. Gerard and I are the only ones who have access cards to the room, which means that Gerard gave his to Mikey. Gerard sent Mikey to be his messenger, which means he’s still pissed at me, and that probably shouldn’t make me feel quite as proud as it does.

“Oh my fuck,” Mikey groans as he throws himself onto Gerard’s bed. He lies back and covers his eyes dramatically. “I fucking hate you both.”

I smirk over at him from my place on my own bed, closing the laptop Bob was kind enough to let me borrow. I focus solely on the other boy. “What’s wrong, Mikeyway?”

He opens his eyes to glare at me, a gesture which I can tell he only partially means. “I was out with Pete last night-- on a date with a gorgeous guy who was undoubtedly going to blow me later on, by the way-- when Gerard called me and started bitching about how he was standing outside of my room and I wasn’t answering the door. He was hammered and yelling and I could barely get a word in edgewise. So I left my date and I came back here to find Gerard passed the fuck out in front of my room. He smelled like piss and he’d been crying and I literally had to drag him into the room.” Mikey sits up suddenly, his eyes going comically wide. “Do you know how fucking hard it is to drag an unconscious body thirty feet and get it onto a bed? It’s not fun, Frankie. _It is not fun_. And of course, he woke up a few hours later slurring and not making any sense and then he just broke down and started crying and then he threw up. On my fucking bed. The kid I got stuck rooming with hates me, by the way.”

Mikey only revives his glare when I laugh softly.

“This morning, he didn’t even want to talk to me,” Mikey continues with a sigh, brushing a hand through his hair. “He sat there sulking in my room and when I asked him what happened, he just started screaming at me. I didn’t catch much of it, but I got that you kissed him. Why the fuck would that sound like a good idea, Frank? Didn’t it turn out bad enough the first time you did it?”

I let loose a long sigh, about to answer, when Mikey holds up a hand and shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know what was going through your head,” He admits. “You have this weird masochistic affection for my brother. I don’t understand it and I don’t really care to. What I care about right now is getting Gerard out of my hotel room so I can sleep in it. And you’re going to help me.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued and frightened by the tone of his voice. “How am I going to do that?”

Mikey only gives me a deadpan look, frowning so hard the expression is practically carved into his features. “You’re going to talk to him. And he is going to talk to you. And when the other is talking, you’re going to shut the fuck up and listen. Got it? No kissing, no groping, no punching. No touching whatsoever. Just words. Civil fucking words, dammit. Do you understand me, Frank? Because I already talked to Bob and, as much as he hates to agree, he knows that this trip isn’t going to be fun for anyone unless you and Gerard can be civil around each other.”

The frown on his lips must be contagious because I can feel one forming on my own mouth as well. I silently watch Mikey for a while, unsure of what to say. I want to say so much, but nothing comes out. I want to tell Mikey that it’s none of his business, and yet that’s far from the truth. I want to talk to Gerard more than anything, without the sarcastic remarks and kissing-- I want my friend back. And if Mikey can make that happen, then I’m open to his interference. In the end, I bite down on my lip and fidget nervously with the sheets. “And Gerard agreed to this? To talk to me?”

Mikey makes a face now. “Not explicitly…”

I roll my eyes. “He has no idea.”

A heavy sigh escapes Mikey. “Look, I will make sure he’s there. Just be at the bar at nine. Bob knows the place.” With that, Mikey rolls off the bed and begrudgingly stands. He grumbles some more about how it’s not his job to fix his brother’s screw-ups as he wanders toward the door, shutting it deliberately behind him, like he’s metaphorically closing the conversation.

…

At five minutes to nine, Bob and I arrive at a place called Freezone. It’s more of a club than the bar I had imagined, with pulsating purple lights escaping the wide brick entrance. Strangely enough, there’s a wedding chapel to the right of the building with a calming white countenance that both contrasts with and complements the exotic aura of the club. There’s a security guard at the door, who only nods at us as we meander in. The music blasting over the speakers isn’t distinct enough to place, but the bass reverberates through me and I find myself swaying. Bob leads me to the bar located along the left wall, finding us a few empty stools. I sit down as he orders us two beers.

“So why are we at a bar?” I ask, having to nearly shout over the music though I lean into Bob. “Like, why not choose someplace quieter if Mikey wants me and Gerard to talk?”

Bob shrugs. “Alcohol,” is his answer, which he emphasizes by lifting his bottle and taking a swig. “It’s calming, I guess. Maybe he thinks it will relax you guys so you can actually talk instead of bicker.”

“Not likely,” I retort, taking a drink of my own. “But when there’s free beer involved, I won’t say no.”

I’m just finishing my first beer when Gerard and Mikey show up. Mikey quickly steals the stool on Bob’s other side, leaving the only vacant seat to my right. Gerard hesitates, frowns, glares at Mikey, and then sits. He orders two drinks, sliding one to me without a word. He nurses his beer while I take a rather large drink, knowing that I’m probably going to need all the alcohol I can get my hands on to make it through the night. Bob and Mikey part ways with us, reminding us to be civil. I watch them fade into the crowd of bodies, disappearing from sight. The blaring tune on the speakers changes twice before Gerard finally turns to me. The frown is still ever present on his face, but I can’t help but notice what a pretty face it is.

“If you kiss me again,” He states. “I will rip your tongue out of your mouth.”

I narrow my eyes. I can feel a sarcastic response tickling the back of my throat, but I swallow it down and nod. “Agreed. And if I shove my hand down your pants, will you rip my dick off? ‘Cause that entails you touching it.” _Fuck, I really need to fix my brain-to-mouth filter_.

Without a second of hesitation, Gerard is out of his seat and my face is pressed against the bar, one of my arms twisted painfully behind my back. Gerard leans agonizingly close to my ear, his breath ghosting across my skin in a way that sends shivers through me. It feels hot where his skin touches mine. And then he says the last thing I ever expected. “Like this, Frankie? Is this what you fucking want?” His voice is buoyant and breathy, like it’s only air escaping his lips. Lips that are way too close to my neck.

I feel his hand on my wrist tighten and he spins me around, pinning my back to the ledge of the bar instead. His eyes are hard and dark when I finally look into them. My own breathing is labored with this close proximity, my spine rigid, muscles tense. I glance to his lips, which are only inches from mine. Gerard seems to notice and he leans back a bit. “You’re fucking weird,” He finally says. His hold on me disappears. “I pin you to a bar and threaten you, and you still can’t get your mind out of my pants.” He snorts. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“I believe the word is kinky,” I reply. I straighten up a bit and find my drink again. Placing myself on the barstool, I spin around to smirk at Gerard. “Now Mikey made it clear that there would be a no-touching rule, and surprisingly you’re the one who broke that rule. Should I go get him, or are you going to apologize without his assistance?”

Gerard laughs again, plopping himself into the stool next to me. “Why the hell would I apologize to you?”

I can feel the way my features harden involuntarily and I glower at him. “I’m sure I could come up with plenty of reasons you should apologize to me,” I tell him. “But for now, I would accept an apology for manhandling me against the bar.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Fine. I’m sorry I manhandled you against the bar.”

“That doesn’t sound very genuine,” I sip at my beer. “But I’ll accept it.” I frown when I realize my second beer is gone. I turn to Gerard, who is just finishing his first. “We’re not good at this whole talking thing,” I state. “And I need something stronger if I’m dealing with your obnoxious ass all night.”

I wave the bartender down and order a shot, downing it quickly before gesturing for another. If I was going to be civil toward Gerard, I needed to be as hammered as possible before the actual talking started. I know I probably don’t want to hear or remember whatever either of us has to say.

 


	9. Guaranteed To Blow Your Mind... Anytime

_ Day Four _

I hear a groan escape my lips and lift a heavy hand to my head. "What the hell?" My head is throbbing and my back feels like someone beat me with a crowbar. I hurt all over, a dull ache that pulses through my veins like blood. Everything is blurry, even the blackness behind my eyelids. My thoughts are jumbled and vague and I can’t honestly recall where I am or how I got here. God, what happened last night? Quickly, I review my body and surroundings. There are warm sheets beneath and around me, but the comforting cocoon does nothing to soothe the sore feeling all over. "Shit, my ass hurts..." I roll over and allow my eyes to open to narrow slits. The sunlight simply burns my eyes and I clamp them shut again, but not before I catch a glimpse of a figure beside me. Holy shit, who is next to me? They’re not moving. Did I kill someone last night? After a second, I decide to give it another try and peel open my eyelids again. Who is...

"Gerard!?" I shriek. Not even in my deepest darkest fantasies would I imagine waking up next to him. Sure, two years ago I would have loved to wake up and see his burning hazel gaze as it met mine, a soft smile on his lips. But now, with the ache in my body and the throbbing in my head, Gerard’s face is the last thing I want to see. I attempt to jump out of the bed, jump as far away from that dick I can get, but only stumble off the mattress, dragging the sheet with me.

Gerard promptly sits up on the bed, brushing a hand through his tangled hair and looking around, confused. "What the hell?"

"That's exactly what I wanna know!" I yell. My voice is too loud to even my own hungover ears, but I don’t really care at this moment. "Where the fuck are your pants!?" He looks down at himself, realizing he's wearing only boxers, and realization and panic play across his features. He’s wide awake suddenly and he does not look happy.

His gaze moves to me, nostrils flaring, eyes wide, as he grabs the remaining blanket, pulling it over his lap. "What the hell did you do, Iero?" He demands furiously.

"Me?" I ask, outraged. "What did you do!?"

"You're the one in _my_ bed, you faggot!" Oh great, we’ve reverted back to petty insults. Gerard's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head and it only now occurs to me how gorgeous he is when he's angry.

I immediately push the thought away, remembering I'm the subject of his anger. "Well you're the one without any pants, you pervert!"

"So you're wearing pants?" He asks, doubt and irritation evident in his voice as he narrows his eyes at me.

My heart nearly stops and I realize I don't even want to know the answer to that question. I take a breath, hesitant, but as I reach down to lift the sheet, something catches my eye and pants are the last thing on my mind.

Gerard notices at the same time I do and I hear his angry voice demand, "Is that a fucking wedding ring?" I pull my eyes away from the ring on my left ring finger to look at him, his panic matching my own and the imperative question resurfaces again. "What the hell happened last night!?"

…

“Don’t fucking touch me.” My jaw clenches and I narrow my eyes at Gerard. He simply rolls his own, choosing to ignore my command. He grabs my hand and proceeds to tug on the ring around my finger. He grunts in frustration when it doesn’t budge. “I told you, dumbass. It’s stuck.”

After the initial shock of seeing the ring on my finger, Gerard and I were both equally disgusted and angered to find a matching one on his. They were simple rings-- Thin silver bands. Nothing too extravagant or flashy, but they stood for something so much deeper that neither of us wanted to delve into. In an attempt to erase the fact completely, Gerard immediately ripped the ring from his finger and threw it into his nightstand drawer; Problem forgotten. No ring, no marriage, right? But my problem solving wasn’t that simple, especially when we discovered that my ring was too small and therefore stuck on my finger.

Now I fold my arms stubbornly across my chest and glower at Gerard. There’s a heavy silence between us, our thoughts undoubtedly in the same place, but no one wants to speak it out loud. Eventually Gerard breaks the stare-down and goes to sit on the edge of his bed, tugging on his shoes.

“Where are you going?” I demand.

Gerard sighs. “None of your damn business.”

“That’s no way to talk to your husband.”

Gerard freezes. I’m pretty sure even his breathing stops. Then slowly, he finishes tying his shoes and stands up, facing me. His expression is unreadable, so many emotions flashing across his face. “You’re not my husband,” He states. “I don’t know what the hell happened last night, but we did not get married.”

“Oh yeah,” I retort sarcastically. “We just got shitfaced and bought best friend rings.” He says nothing and after a second, I let out a long breath. “Look, I’m not happy about this either. Whatever _this_ is.” I flail my arms around, encompassing the entire clusterfuck of a situation we’ve got ourselves into. “But something happened last night and pretending like it never happened isn’t going to make our little problem go away. Taking off the ring-- even if I could actually take mine off-- isn’t going to mean we didn’t get married and it sure as hell doesn’t take back the fact that I’m pretty sure we had sex.”

I see Gerard tense up again. His face pales. “We didn’t.” His voice is soft, almost inaudible. He shakes his head, slowly at first and then fervent. Stumbling back a step, I see him swallow hard. “No. No way. I wouldn’t do that.” He looks physically ill, unsteady. _Scared_. “How can you know that we--” He cuts off his own words and swallows again, gesturing to the space between us with one hand.

I sigh heavily and run a nervous hand through my hair. It’s weird to actually talk to Gerard like this. We’re still arguing, but we’re actually conversing instead of just bickering like we usually do. It reminds me vaguely of the way we used to be. “I feel it,” I admit after a long silence. “You… You wouldn’t understand. It’s just… It’s…”

Eventually Gerard gets impatient with my lack of communication skills. “Just spit it out, Frank.”

And I do. “My ass hurts,” I state. “Kind of like I fell and landed on a dick. _Your_ dick.” I fidget awkwardly and find myself picking at the ring on my finger. I stop immediately once I realize what I’m doing. “It’s hard to explain if you’ve never felt it, but it’s sort of how I felt after my night with Zacky.”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life,” Gerard intervenes, frowning.

“Not even if my sex life includes you?”

Gerard’s frown deepens. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and then he moves across the room and starts pulling stuff out of the small trash bin in the corner. Then he goes into the bathroom. I follow him, leaning against the doorframe. I watch as he digs through that trash, too. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We did not have sex. I don’t know why your ass hurts, but I can promise you that my dick was nowhere near it.” Still, he sighs. His back is to me and I can’t see his face, but I see the muscles in his shoulders tensing. “But if there’s a chance we did, then even drunk us would use a condom, right?” He sits back on his heels and leaves the trash alone. It doesn’t seem like he found anything and I’m not sure how I feel about that-- No condom means we possibly didn’t have sex, or we had sex without protection.

I leave the bathroom and go over to Gerard’s bed instead, pulling at the sheets. I run a hand over the fabric. Now it’s Gerard’s turn to give me a curious look. “If you didn’t find a condom, maybe we didn’t use one,” I explain. “Which means there should be _bodily fluids_ everywhere. And there’s not.” I sit down heavily and sigh. “This is good, right? No semen, no condom. Unless we decided to drunkenly clean up afterwards, I don’t think we did anything.” I bring a hand up to rub it across the back of my neck. The muscles are tight and the base of my skull is still pounding.

“ _Fuck_ …” The word escapes Gerard as nothing more than a breath. He looks sick again. I notice the way his fingers twitch at his sides before he grimaces and points to me. “I think we did _something_. Is that a hickey?”

I don’t honestly want to know. I can’t imagine Gerard’s mouth on my neck, his fingers on my skin, because it hurts too much. I promised myself I would not get close to him again, and I won’t. If anything did happen last night, we were drunk. He didn’t mean any of it and neither did I. Still, I run a few fingers across my neck and then flinch when they brush the sensitive area he must be referring to.

When I come out of my own reverie, Gerard is muttering to himself and pacing the length of the room. He’s got both of his hands tangled in his hair and I can tell even from here that he’s shaking. It almost pains me to watch it, to know how much he hates me in this moment. But when I listen closely, I realize it’s not me he’s muttering about. He’s softly berating himself.

I want to comfort him, take his hands and tell him that it’s okay; We’ll figure this out together. But I can’t. I’m stuck in place like the ring on my finger. Watching him, he reminds me of the boy I used to know. This is the real Gerard and I know that if I so much as move, the trance will be broken and he’ll go back to being the prick he pretends to be. Even still, I can’t sit still forever. Eventually, I stand up and go to put my own shoes on. I dig through my suitcase until I find my fingerless gloves and pull them on, successfully hiding the ring that feels all too permanent on my finger.

When I stand up, turning to face him, I see Gerard has stopped pacing and is watching me. In a second, his face changes and he’s glaring at me again. “We’re going to fix this,” He states. “And then I’m never talking to you again.”

I wink at him as I brush past him to the door. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, babe.”

…

“You can’t answer that,” Gerard tells me. He’s looking over my shoulder, reading the screen of my cell phone as Bob’s name lights it up.

“And why not?” Still, I ignore the call and set the phone down on the table between us. We’re nestled in the corner of an uncrowded diner, sharing an awkwardly silent breakfast. We’d talked about going to the bar we’d visited last night, but realized it didn’t open for another few hours so we had some time to kill.

“Because if you answer that,” Gerard explains, taking a gulp of coffee. “Then you’ll end up telling him about the ring.”

“Probably,” I admit. “Frankly, I think we should just ask Bob and Mikey about last night. They were there with us, maybe they know what happened.”

“No,” Gerard rejects my idea immediately. “Look, nobody can know about this. Not even your boyfriend.”

I frown. “Bob is not my boyfriend. I’m capable of being just friends with dudes even though I’m gay. I don’t fuck everything with a penis.”

Gerard’s eyes narrow at me, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks more… _contemplative_. Like he’s never even considered this before. I take a drink of my coffee, not willing to break the eye contact Gerard and I have made, but the waitress appears at my elbow with the check. I begin pulling out my wallet, mentally cursing myself for ordering any food at all because I am so beyond broke and can’t actually afford it. But Gerard shakes his head silently and grabs the check, producing more than enough money for his own breakfast. I watch in confusion as Gerard pays for my meal. Then, like nothing even happened, he stands up and says, “Are you just going to sit there or are we leaving?”

I stumble to my feet and follow Gerard out the door. It’s when we reach the sidewalk that my phone goes off again. This time, Mikey’s name flashes across the screen. I hold it up so Gerard can see. He frowns and pushes the ignore button. “Like I said, we’re not telling anyone. Not even my brother.”

“You think he would be mad you didn’t let him be the best man?” I wonder as we start down the sidewalk. “Oh shit, dude. We’re in _Vegas_. Do you think we got married by Elvis? We probably danced to Can’t Help Falling In Love. I do not care what you say, Gee, you always had a boner for Elvis. It was a man crush, even if you’re straight.”

I glance over to Gerard when I hear the words leaving my mouth because I should not be saying this-- He’s going to punch me. Right in the face. But he doesn’t look angry. His jaw is clenched tightly, but his hands are stuffed into his pockets and his gaze is focused intently ahead. He doesn’t say anything at all. Even with his lack of anger, I force myself to look down, watching my feet. One in front of the other.

When I was younger, my parents would always lose me in the store. It didn’t matter if they had one of those kid leashes or if they put me in the shopping cart; I would find a way to get lost, I would hold conversations with complete strangers, and I would follow anyone around even if they didn’t acknowledge my presence. I realize I’m doing sort of the same thing now. I’m talking to Gerard like he’s my best friend again, but he’s not. He’s a stranger. And I am far too talkative. I swallow down any other insistent babble that wants to spew forward like word vomit.

The rest of the walk to the bar is utterly silent, leaving me time alone in my head, which is really not a place I want to be. Spending time in my head leaves me with more questions than answers, and more made-up fantastical scenarios than actual memories. My hangover headache has mostly diminished, but there’s still a pounding in my skull that only ebbs and doesn’t actually disappear.

There’s a chance that I’m married-- actually fucking legally wed-- to the guy I’ve been in love with for two years, the man who threw me out of the closet and made my life a living hell. There’s another chance that we had sex. And I can’t honestly say whether I’m ecstatic or pissed at either possibility. I’m more… _Numb_. I feels unreal, and in a way it is. It’s not even a vague memory, more of a review. I’m reading through the not-quite-facts of last night and trying to piece it all together. I’m too focused on trying to discover what really happened before I allow myself to feel one way or another.

I want to ask how Gerard feels, but I’m not sure I want to know. Obviously he’s not happy. Being married against your conscious will is enough to have anyone feeling a little discontent. But he’s not reacting quite the way I’d imagined him to. He should be throwing punches and insults like they’re life rafts handed out on the Titanic. But he’s not. He silent, eerily so. He’s contemplative and nervous and sad, but he’s not furious. And that makes me all the more unsure about everything. I’m not used to this side of Gerard-- I haven’t seen this part of him in two years. This right here is the Gerard that I fell in love with.

I could confront him now-- I could stop right here in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and ask him why he turned my entire life upside down. I could demand to know what he was thinking when he decided to tell his friends that I tried to molest him, even when he admitted to me that he lied. But I can’t right now because I’m not sure how. I can’t find the words, or even the thoughts, that would come out right. And so I stay silent, keeping my eyes down.

…

The bar is desolate this early in the afternoon. There’s a group of men set up at a booth near the far wall, all adorned with crisp business suits and graying hair-- Some sort of work meeting, I assume-- and a few middle-aged people scattered along the counter, each with a downturned gaze as they nurse their separate beverages. A tall guy with a goatee and about a million tattoos decorating his arms and neck wipes down glasses behind the bar. Gerard takes a seat and I follow. Honestly, I don’t want anything alcoholic. I’m still working off the hangover from last night. Gerard orders a Coke for both of us, thankfully, and sips it when his is placed in front of him.

“Were you working last night?” Gerard asks. It’s a pretty casual question, but it feels like an interrogation almost instantly.

The guy stops, rubs a hand over his facial hair, and studies Gerard and then me for a second. Then he grins, laughs, and nods. “Yeah, I remember you two. You were quite the pair last night.”

Gerard and I share an uneasy glance. “That’s what I was afraid of,” Gerard mutters. He looks down at his drink like he’s suddenly discovered the meaning of life in the bubbles.

I run a finger along the top of my glass and frown at the bartender. “So you saw us last night,” I say. “Would you happen to recall what exactly we did?”

The bartender smirks, chuckling. “Oh yeah, you made quite a scene. It’s not really unusual for me to get couples in here making out, or maybe a couple fights if people get drunk enough, but you two--” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head as he recalls a memory I don’t have. “You fought first, bitching and bickering, and then when you got enough alcohol in you, you couldn’t stay off each other.”

I look over to Gerard, expecting him to be blanching and denying the whole ordeal, but he says nothing. He doesn’t even look like he heard the guy.

“Did we leave together?” I ask. It’s a pretty stupid question. We woke up in the same bed, coming from the same place.

But the guy just shrugs. “Don’t know,” He admits. “I saw you guys making out, things were getting pretty heavy. But we were busy last night. I ran to the back to get some stuff. When I came out, you were gone. Can’t say where you went or if it was alone.”

“What time was that?” Gerard wonders. So he had been listening to the conversation after all.

“Umm…” The bartender thinks about it, shrugging again uncertainly. “Around one, I think. Maybe before.”

I sigh and look over at Gerard helplessly. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He simply pays for our drinks, thanks the bartender, and stands up, waiting for me to follow. I do. When we get outside, I frown. “So what now? We’re back right where we started.”

“Maybe not…” Gerard’s voice is soft, unfocused, and I follow his gaze to where it’s transfixed on a smaller white building I hadn’t noticed when we entered the bar. He starts in the direction of the building. As we near, it becomes vaguely familiar. There’s a plastic floral overhang in the entrance and a sign on the wall that reads “Little White Chapel.”

“Who the hell built a chapel next to a bar?” I wonder as Gerard pushes the door open. “Honestly, what were they thinking?”

“They were thinking they would get dumbasses who drink too much to stumble in and get married.” Gerard looks pointedly at me. “That’s kind of why we’re here, remember?”

“Hello!” A chipper voice drags our attention to a large woman seated behind a podium in the corner of the room. She stands, comes around the side of her post, and opens her arms in a wide, encompassing gesture. “Welcome to the Little White Chapel. I’m Marianne. How can I help you folks?”

Neither of us move. I glance over to Gerard, who looks kind of sick again as he watches our hostess. I nudge him forward with my shoulder. He simply stumbles a step, glares at me, and then bites down on his lip and fixes Marianne with an uncertain look. “I’m not sure,” He admits.

Marianne smiles. “It’s alright if you’re nervous, sweetie.” I notice an accent in her voice for the first time, a soothing Southern sound. She gestures with one hand around her. There’s an arched doorway leading down a left hallway and big wooden doors straight ahead. “If you’re uncertain of what kind of wedding you two want, I’d love to show you around. We offer a variety of rooms, officiants, packages and experiences--”

Gerard cuts the woman off with a sharp shake of his head. “No, no. We’re not… We just… It’s…”

He doesn’t remember how to speak. So I sigh and jerk the glove off my left hand, holding it up so there’s a clear view of the shiny ring there. “Last night, we were at the bar next door. This morning, I woke up with this. We’re trying to figure out exactly what happened and if we…” I gesture between Gerard and I. “You know… We got married.”

“Oh dear,” Marianne looks surprised, her bright eyes widening. “That certainly is a problem. Well I’m not quite sure what I can do to help. I wasn’t in last night, but I could look over the records.” She moves back to her podium, pulling on a pair of cat-eyed glasses and frowning at the book in front of her. “We have a strict policy on sobriety here,” She explains. “But sometimes our officiants don’t care quite as much as they should. Shame, really.” She _tsks_ a bit, offers us a sad smile. “What are your names, dear?”

She tsks some more when she flips through the pages of her book. Then she hums softly, mumbles to herself. “You said it was last night, correct?” I nod. She frowns. “Well, I don’t know if this is good news or bad, but we have no record of you being married here. Now, of course, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a wedding. Plenty of skeevy chapels around these parts won’t hesitate for a moment before marrying an inebriated couple. You could check around at some of the others, but I can’t do anymore for you. I’m sorry.”

I thank Marianne for her help before Gerard and I dejectedly leave the chapel. Once on the sidewalk, I kick the side of the building. “Dammit!” I can’t feel my foot for a second, but I kick the wall again. “This is just fucking great.” I drop my glove on the asphalt and tug on the ring. It’s still stuck stubbornly around the digit, but I keep pulling.

I feel Gerard pulling my arm. “Stop,” He grumbles. “You’re gonna pull the fucking finger off.”

“Good,” I respond, still tugging. Maybe losing a finger won’t be such a huge price to pay as long as I get the damn ring off. But it stays put.

Gerard lets loose this breath that sounds like a groan and a sigh. “You’re just making the finger swell up. It’s not going to budge.”

I give up, throwing my arms up. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Gerard’s voice raises to match my own, but he gets a few sideways glances by passersby. He shrugs helplessly. “Can we just go back to the hotel please? We can figure something out there.”

Begrudgingly, I allow him to lead the way.

Back in the room, I collapse on my bed as Gerard continues to walk around. Pacing is a nervous habit for him and it doesn’t surprise me when he starts biting on his lip either-- It’s something so very Gerard-like. But after nearly fifteen minutes of silent pacing, I can’t take anymore. I sit up, watching him.

“What do we do now?” I wonder.

He shrugs. He doesn’t make eye-contact, keeping his gaze down. “I don’t know,” He admits, sounding defeated and scared. “We’re back where we started. We’re in Vegas; There is no fucking way we could check the records of every chapel around here.”

“So… What do we do?” I feel like a little kid, asking for direction. But in all honesty, I’m lost. I have no idea what to do and I just want someone to tell me how to solve the problem.

Eventually Gerard turns to me. “We get dinner,” He decides. “We order room service so there’s no chance of us running into Bob or Mikey or anyone else.”

“We hide?” I frown. “That’s not solving anything, Gerard. We should be out there doing… _something_!”

He looks at me, exasperated. “Doing what exactly? I’m open to suggestions here, Frankie.”

I freeze. Gerard freezes. The room feels eerily cold and still, like time has stopped ticking by, the world has stopped spinning. Two years I’ve gone without hearing my nickname fall off of his tongue and suddenly I’m back in his basement bedroom, nervous and trembling and spilling all of my feelings to him once again. I feel sick. Gerard looks kind of the same. Still, he clenches his jaw and looks anywhere but at me.

“We can’t do anything out there,” Gerard continues, like the slip-up in names never happened. He’s pretending like it didn’t, but it still reverberates in my ears. _He called me Frankie._ “All we can do out there is harass chapels we may or may not have gone into. We should try to get your ring off first and then we can worry about the legalities of it.”

I watch then as Gerard bustles around the room, finding a menu and calling down to room service, ordering two meals. He hangs up the phone and sits down quietly on his mattress, the one we shared last night. “Why did you do it?” I find myself asking. “When I kissed you the first time and you told everyone about it. I wasn’t ready to come out. Why the hell did you do that to me?”

Gerard doesn’t look at me for the longest time. I think maybe he choses to just avoid the question completely, but eventually I see him swallow hard and his hazel gaze steadily meets mine. “Because I hated you.”

It stings, but it doesn’t feel like a lie. And that hurts even more.

Our food arrives a little later and we eat. When Gerard gets an ingenious idea to put the butter off of his roll onto my finger, I don’t question it. I don’t thank him when the ring finally slips off, or mention it when he drops the silver band into the nightstand drawer with it’s pair. The rest of the night is spent in mutual silence, deafening all in it’s own sense because I’m not sure about what was going through Gerard’s head, but my own thoughts wouldn’t stop screaming.

 

 


	10. Well If You Wanted Honesty

_ Day Five (Part One) _

I can’t sleep. I can’t seem to find the switch that turns my thoughts off, shuts my mind up, silences the berating and taunting voices in my head. I toss and turn in the cold bed, trying to ignore the way Gerard does the same thing across the room. He can’t sleep either, not that I care. Except that I do. I care a lot more than I should.

It’s two in the morning when I give up on my futile attempts at rest and push the blankets off. Neither of us have spoken since our fight last night and I don’t really feel the need to, but when I stand up and begin pulling my jeans on, Gerard finally breaks the silence.

“Where are you going?” His voice is quiet in the otherwise noiseless room, but it echoes off the walls and suddenly the voices in my head are gone. I hear nothing but Gerard. My head still hurts.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I can’t see him in the dark, but I hear him shift on his bed.

I can practically feel the weight of whatever it is he wants to say, but he can’t seem to find the words. He releases nothing but a breath. I scavenge for a shirt in the dark and pull it on. As soon as it’s over my head, the light across the room flicks on. Gerard is squinting at me. “I meant what I said last night,” He says. And okay, that’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it doesn’t surprise me. He’s reinstating the hate he feels for me.

I sigh. “I know. And trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

Gerard continues watching me. I sit down on the edge of my mattress and begin tugging on my shoes. “You hated me?” And the tone of his voice is so unusual, so soft and young and unlike Gerard. When I cast a glance his way, he looks sad.

I meet his gaze steadily, and then nod. “Yes,” I state. And it’s complete and brutal honesty when I say, “I hated you so fucking much. And before that, I loved you.”

Unlike the first time I admitted those simple words, Gerard doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t glare at me or threaten me. But he hesitates, unsure. He chews on his lip for a long time. “And now?” He wonders. “What do you feel right now?”

“Now... “ I chuckle humorlessly, shrugging. “Now, I don’t even fucking know you. I used to know you, and I want to think that I still know you. But in all honesty, I’m not sure I do.”

I finish tying my shoes, but I make no move to leave. I don’t know where I would go. I’m in Vegas, the city that never sleeps-- I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to find something to occupy my mind. But I’m not sure I want to be alone, and I’m not sure I want to be around anyone. I just want to scream. And so I sit there on my bed, watching my shoes, not making a single sound.

“Do you want to know what I feel right now?” Gerard’s words surprise me, and I look up at him. He’s looking at his hands. His voice is small, quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I feel like a stranger.” He laughs, short and sad. “I don’t even know who I am. I thought I knew, but--” He pauses again and then his burning gaze is on mine, so pure and raw. “You fucked it all up. That’s why I hated you. You fucked everything up, and you made me hate myself.” Gerard laughs again, tears welling in his eyes. He looks almost hysterical, frightened. “You don’t get it,” He shakes his head, looking down again. “I’m not… I’m not fucking gay.”

And he’s right; I don’t understand it at all. He’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t think even he’s sure of what he’s trying to say.

“You say that a lot,” I realize. “You say you’re not gay. But you never say you’re straight. Why not? Look at me, Gerard. Tell me. I want to hear you say it. Tell me you’re straight.”

Gerard looks up at me again. His lip is quivering. He’s visibly trembling, twisting his hands together nervously. He shakes his head, sniffling. I barely even hear his voice when he lets out a broken sounding whisper, admitting, “I can’t. I’m… _I’m not_.” And then he pushes himself off the mattress and rushes into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

…

I find myself standing at Mikey’s door, pounding my fist against it. I wanted to go see Bob, but somehow I ended up here instead, standing outside Mikey’s room. It takes a few minutes before a groggy, tired Mikey appears in front of me, throwing the door open. I can’t tell if he’s squinting because he’s not wearing his glasses, or if he’s glaring at me. I figure it’s probably the latter when he grumbles, “What the fuck are you doing? It’s three in the morning.”

I push past him into the room, running a hand through my hair and pacing the length of the floor. Mikey sighs and shuts the door. His roommate-- some kid I don’t actually recognize-- is glowering at me from his bed. I ignore him and spin around to face Mikey. “Why didn’t you tell me Gerard is bisexual?”

Mikey’s mouth falls open. He gapes at me for a moment and then bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Because he’s not. There’s no way. Trust me, Gerard would tell me that.”

“Oh really?” I ask doubtfully. “Then how come he just told me he’s not gay and he’s not straight?”

Mikey looks taken back, his mouth opening again, and then closing. He’s speechless, so I barrell on.

“Gerard is not straight. He fucking said that to my face, okay?” I pace some more. “But he said he’s not gay. I don’t think he knows what the hell he is. And he blames me for that, for the first time I kissed him. He told me I made him hate himself. What the fuck does that even mean? He hates himself because I made him realize he’s not straight? He should hate me, not himself.” I stop abruptly, turning to face Mikey again. “I was confused and scared for a long time when I realized I was gay. I hated Gerard and my parents and everyone who ever bullied me, but I didn’t hate myself. Ever.”

Mikey sighs softly. He sits down on his bed, looking tired and uncertain. He shrugs a few times. “Maybe he’s still coming to terms with it,” Mikey suggests. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared. If you’re right and Gee is bi, then he’s probably freaking out right now.”

“Why now?” I demand. “I kissed him two years ago. Why the hell is freaking out now?”

“I don’t know.” Mikey shrugs some more. “Should I talk to him?”

I think about that for a second, and then shake my head. “No,” I decide. “I don’t want him to know that I told you. If he hasn’t told you yet, he probably has his reasons. He’ll tell you whenever he’s ready.”

Mikey nods understandingly. Then he smirks at me. “So this means you and Gerard are getting along? Bob and I haven’t seen either of you since your talk at the bar. Things went well?”

I should tell him about the rings. I should tell him that I think I accidentally married his brother. But if he’s asking me how it went, that means he doesn’t know what happened and he can’t really help us figure out what to do to fix it. So I settle with a noncommittal shrug. “I wouldn’t say we’re getting along _well_ ,” I say, keeping my answer vague. “But we’re talking, I guess. At least somewhat civilly. We’re not BFFs or anything.”

“But it’s progress.”

I nod. “Yeah, I think it’s progress.”

Mikey smiles, standing up. “That’s good, Frankie. Now get the hell out of my room so I can sleep.”

I hear a noise of agreement come from the stranger sharing Mikey’s room and allow them to kick me out. I don’t really want to go back to my own room-- I want to avoid Gerard for the rest of the trip, and then for the rest of my life. I wanted to know why he made my life a living hell and now I have my reason; He hates me. It’s not the most explanatory reason, but it’s something solid. It’s something I can accept and live with.

But I don’t really have anywhere else to go, and so I end up back at our hotel room. Gerard is sitting cross-legged on his bed when I come in, shutting the door quietly behind me. He doesn’t look up, but asks, “Where were you?”

“I needed air,” I say. It’s only sort of a lie-- I did need air, I needed room to breathe and to think. I don’t tell him I also saw his brother.

Gerard looks up from his place on the bed. The expression on his face is somewhere between confused and bewildered. He looks like he doesn’t even recognize me. “We used to be friends. Best friends.” I simply nod. “What happened?”

“Well,” I move to sit down on my own bed, kicking my shoes off. “I kissed you and you became a homophobic asshole. End of story.”

Gerard’s gaze follows me as I move, then he frowns. “You think I’m homophobic because I don’t want to kiss you?”

I scoff. “No, I think you’re homophobic because you called me a fucking faggot afterwards, and many times after that. You lied to your friends because you didn’t want the ‘baggage’ that came along with being my friend. You can’t even look at me without looking disgusted. You don’t even want to share a room with me because I like boys. That, Gerard, is what makes you a homophobe.”

Gerard watches me for a long time, then turns his gaze to his lap. I can feel the lack of sleep wearing on me. I’m tired, but I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep if I tried. I simply lean back on the bed, allowing my eyes to close with no intention of actually being drawn into unconsciousness. Gerard stays quiet for awhile and when he speaks again, I barely hear him. “So that’s why you hate me? Because I’m a homophobe.”

I laugh. “Sure,” I admit. “That’s part of it, I guess.”

“What else?” Gerard asks. And this time I don’t reply. After some time, he gets impatient and sighs. “Come on, Iero. Tell me why you hate me so much. What’s your problem?”

I can hear the snarky, smug tone to his voice, the way he sounds when he’s making fun of me or talking to his friends. The Gerard that I don’t even recognize anymore. I sit up, glaring at him. “You want to know what my problem is, _Way_? My fucking problem is that I accidentally fell in love with my best friend and I made the stupid mistake of trusting him with that secret. And what did you do when you found out? You told your friends that I tried to grope you. I became a fucking outcast. I got made fun of every single day because of you. I don’t even think most of them hated me because I was gay-- They hated me because apparently I was some pervert who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. People started literally avoiding me. Do you know how many people scooted their desks away from me in class? Or how many times I got beat up in the locker room because I couldn’t look anywhere. If I so much as opened my eyes, someone thought I was checking out another guys ass. _I got dressed for PE with my eyes closed because I was afraid they would beat me up._ You see, Gerard? I never hated you because you rejected me. In all honesty, I kind of expected it. I didn’t expect you to profess your undying love for me, okay? But I thought you would at least understand. I thought you would accept me because you were the only one I had.”

I want to shut up. I don’t want to be spilling my heart out to Gerard at three AM in a hotel in Las Vegas, but I can’t stop now. I’m too nervous to actually look at him, but his silence is somewhat reassuring. It makes me feel safe, secluded. Some of my anger falls away and it’s replaced with the pain I felt two years ago when it first happened.

“I hated you because you took everything from me, including my right to come out on my own. I wasn’t ready for everyone to know I was gay. I was still coming to terms with it. I was scared and uncertain and I thought I could trust you. You betrayed me, you left me completely alone. And that hurt more than anything. Well, almost anything.The only thing worse than being betrayed by you was when my parents found out. See, there was this one fight that was pretty gruesome. I got beat up a lot, got my head stuck in a toilet or got shoved into a locker, but this time was… so much worse. A couple kids jumped me on my way into lunch, grabbed me and dragged me out behind the dumpsters. You know where we used to go smoke? They threw me on the ground and just started kicking. I usually tried to at least fight back a little, but there were too many of them. So I just kind of curled in on myself and waited until it was over. I was bleeding all over and my lip ring was gone by the time they left and when I finally dragged my ass to the nurse, she made me tell the Dean of Students. I only recognized one of the kids who was there, but when I gave his name they called both of our parents into the office.”

The memory haunts me, crushing my chest with an invisible weight. I wipe at the tears building in my eyes and sniffle. I almost forget Gerard is even there until he softly says, “What happened?”

I let loose a small chuckle, shaking my head. “They yelled a lot, all of them. My parents were saying I couldn’t have started the fight since I got the worst of it, and the kid was trying to defend himself and then he just screams, ‘He’s a fucking faggot!’ and everything stopped. You should have seen the look on my mother’s face. She went from trying to protect me to looking disgusted by my existence in a second. She was just… appalled. Like I was the scum of the fucking Earth.”

I finally look up, meeting Gerard’s gaze. His eyes glimmer in the reflecting light of the lamp, but I don’t let myself believe they’re tears. He wouldn’t cry for me. But I can’t deny the tears on my own cheeks. “They kicked me out after that,” I continue. “With literally nothing but the clothes I was wearing. No money, no job, no place to sleep. And I was begging them, pleading for them to just listen to me, but they didn’t care. You want to know the last thing my mother said to me? She called me a disgrace, and said that she would rather not have a child at all, than be forced to call me her son. And then she shut the door in my fucking face.”

I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control, sucking up the tears and rubbing my sleeve across my cheeks. “I slept on a park bench for six weeks after that. Local police kicked me out of a few places for begging for food. They banned me from a Walmart after stealing a coat and socks. See, usually I would have gone to my best friend’s house, but I didn’t have anybody anymore. It was Bob that found me sleeping on a bench outside of a gas station. He took me home with him and his parents told me I could stay there. His mom helped me get the job at the movie theater and his dad got my records and work sorted out at school since I had over a month of unexplained absences. Bob’s the only one who knows what happened with my parents. He never cared that I was gay, it never mattered what people at school told him about me. He became my only friend, my family.”

I sniffle again and allow my gaze to meet Gerard’s once more. “So there you have it, Gerard. You wanted to know why I hated you and now you know. I put my trust in you, and you took away my friends, my family, my fucking home. All because I kissed you. And yeah, I’m bitter. I’m an asshole because I blame you for all of that. But you know, you’re an asshole, too. You freaked out, you never let me explain, you took everything from me, you treated me like shit because you couldn’t handle one stupid kiss. Can you just fucking admit that? For me?”

Gerard says nothing. He remains silent, watching me with dazed, uncertain eyes. And then he stands and slowly comes forward. I see his fingers twitch at his sides. Oh shit, he’s going to punch me. I jump to my feet, bracing myself for impact. He stops a few feet away, his hands clenching into fists again at his sides. “I’m an asshole,” He states, and then he closes the remaining distance between us and his lips are on mine. My mind starts spinning. This is not the kind of contact I’d been expecting and with my head buzzing with the sudden confusion, my first reaction is to punch him. So I do.

Gerard stumbles back, his hand coming to his jaw. He gapes at me, blinking a few times. I can only stare back, bewildered. “I think I probably deserved that,” Gerard admits.

“You…” I try to form words, but come up with nothing. It’s like there’s a short in my brain. I can’t speak or think or comprehend what just happened. “You just… kissed me.”

Gerard frowns. “And you hit me.”

“Because you kissed me!” I shout. I throw my arms up. “Why the fuck would you kiss me!?”

Gerard looks just as stunned as I feel. “Because… I’m an asshole?”

I glare at him. Maybe I should punch him again. “You think this is a fucking game?” I demand. “You think it’s funny to just fuck with someone’s head? You are a real asshole, Gerard. I told you everything and you’re laughing at me.”

Gerard quirks an eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m laughing?” I don’t say anything because no, he’s not laughing. He looks frightened. But I don’t trust him. Eventually, Gerard sighs and turns away, starting to pace once again. At this rate, he’s going to wear a trail into the carpet. “I hate you!” He exclaims suddenly, spinning to face me. “But you just… You fuck with my head, okay? Two years ago, I thought I was straight. And then you kissed me and now I’m fucking broken!” He turns away again, but I see the panicked tears in his eyes.

I take a hesitant step forward. “You think you’re broken?” I ask softly. “Because you’re not straight?”

Gerard makes this noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No, dumbass. I’m broken because I’m not straight and I’m not gay and--”

“It’s called bisexual, Gee,” I tell him. I take another bold step. “Mikey is bi, you know. You’re allowed to like boy _and_ girls. There’s nothing wrong with you because of that.”

“And what if I don’t like either?” Gerard demands furiously. “Fuck, Frank. I’m broken because I don’t fucking like either, okay?!”

I stop. I want to comfort Gerard, but I’m just as confused as he is. What is he telling me? That he doesn’t like boys, and he doesn’t like girls? He’s right; He’s not gay, he’s not straight, and he’s not bi. But by the time I find the ability to move, Gerard is already out of the hotel room and disappearing down the hall.

 

 


	11. Love in an Elevator

****_ Day Five (Part Two) _

Everything hurts-- My head, most notably, but my body aches, too. When Gerard fled the room, I paced for what must have been close to an an hour. Then I sat down hard on the floor with my back against the wall and tried to comprehend what he had told me. That was when my head started hurting, but it only got worse as the hours ticked by. Sun arose beyond the crimson curtains, but I didn’t respond. I paced some more after that, not really paying much attention to my steps as my thoughts raced. That’s how I tripped over a pair of my own jeans and fell face first onto the carpeted floor.

After an hour of raking my hands through my hair, anxiously and painfully tugging on strands, I got restless again. I felt useless just sitting here. So I left.

I’m not really sure where I’m going and end up just walking the streets for another hour or so. And then I see something that looks like a sign from the heavens; A large building with a blue roof, huge white pillars and an arched doorway beckoning for me to enter. A library.

The atmosphere of the library is calm. Quiet. And it should relax me, but the air feels charged on my skin, like tiny bolts of lightning striking my flesh. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end, goosebumps arising.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but the Google search page stares back at me as my fingers hover above the keyboard. Waiting for me to make my move. Slowly, I type in a single word.

_ Asexual. _

And a plethora of web pages are immediately at my disposal.

I’ve come across the word a few times before. When I started questioning my own sexuality, I talked to a few people online who had gone through the same thing. I also came across a couple of people who used the word; Asexual. But I didn’t really understand it. It wasn’t the word for me and I didn’t pay it much attention. Now I click on the first link, leading me to a white and purple screen.

I spend two hours on the computer. I read everything I can find in that time, from stories of other people who have identified as asexual to tips and guidelines for friends and families of those who are ace. It’s a lot to take in. My eyes are blurry, but my headache has dulled a bit. I’m pulled away from my thoughts when someone taps a finger on my shoulder. I jerk at the unexpected contact and look up to see a middle-aged woman peering at me from behind thin framed glasses. She smiles politely and I notice her nametag reads Genevieve.

The older woman speaks in a low voice, leaning a bit closer. “I’m sorry, sir. But it seems you’re far past the allotted time. Other people are waiting to use the device.”

“Right,” I say dumbly. My brain feels like mush. I’m nowhere near done here, but I notice a kid fidgeting from foot to foot behind the librarian. “Yeah, sorry.” I close the webpage, pushing the chair back. The kid takes my place and the librarian, satisfied, begins walking away. And then it occurs to me that I have other concerns and I lurch forward, hand on Genevieve’s shoulder, stuttering, “Wait, excuse me. Could you possibly help me with something?”

The librarian turns to me, another soft smile in place. She’s about an inch shorter than me, but she watches me with a motherly gaze. “Yes?”

“Well… Umm…” I fumble for words, struggling to find an intelligent way to phrase this. “Let’s say, theoretically, that someone gets married in Vegas. Like in the movies. How could this person find out where it happened? Or if it really happened at all?”

“Oh, well the library won’t do you any good,” Genevieve says, shaking her head, and my heart sinks. Another dead end. But then she continues. “What you’ll want are county records. If it was indeed a legal marriage, they will have a copy of the certificate.”

And my chest pounds painfully at her words. This is actually something. If Gerard and I got married, there is a legit marriage license floating around somewhere. All we have to do is find it and then… Then what? Get an annulment? I push the thought away and focus on the task at hand. One step at a time. “Do they have an office? Can I go now?” I wonder.

Genevieve is nodding. “Yes, of course. Though, I will tell you, the records office can be quite a nuisance. If I were you, I would go online. Clark County Nevada. A quick records search can tell you if a marriage license even exists.”

“That’s it?” I ask, dumbfounded, because there’s no way it can really be that simple.

“Of course,” She smiles again. “Just search you or your spouse’s name and it should come right up. Easy peasy.”

I thank her and then practically flee from the library in search of Gerard.

…

Gerard is hiding from me. Avoiding me. I check our hotel room first, but there’s no sign he’s been back from wherever he ran off to during the night. I check Mikey’s room, but Mikey isn’t there. I text the younger Way, asking if he’s seen his brother, but an hour later he finally replies and simply says no. I try calling Bob, too, but I can hear the frown in his voice when he asks, “Why are you looking for Gerard?”

“I need to talk to him,” I reply vaguely.

“Uh-huh…” Bob hums. “About what? Is he being an asshole again?”

I sigh. “No. I was the asshole this time. I just need to find him. Text me if you see him, okay?”

Bob makes a weak sound that sort of sounds like agreement and then hangs up.

…

I spend the rest of the day alone. I wander the streets looking like a lost puppy. Some people actually mistake me for a homeless person and a few drop some coins into my half-empty coffee cup while I’m sitting outside of a casino.

After wallowing in self-pity for a few hours, I decide that if Gerard can run away from our problems, then I’m entitled to do the same. I find myself in the middle of a crowded club. I didn’t catch the name on the flashing sign outside, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to get lost in the music for awhile. I wanted to dance and throw myself into the middle of a crowd where people could manhandle me and my thoughts would just stop.

So that’s exactly what I did.

There are hands and arms, boobs and asses everywhere. Limbs flailing and hair flying. The scent of sweat and beer and ecstasy surrounds me. The music pounds in my ears and that’s finally the only thing I hear.

When two hands settle on my hips, I don’t jump. Don’t pull away. I lean back into the touch, reveling in the heat of the body behind me. A chest touches my back. Crotch grinding against my butt and… yep, that is definitely a dick back there. The stranger mouths at my neck, the filthy feeling of lips and tongue. Hot breath against my flesh. I throw my head back onto their shoulder, simply letting myself have this insane pleasure. Their hands roam over my body, across my stomach and chest, a few fingers teasing the waistband of my jeans.

I turn in the stranger’s arms, seeing their face for the first time. Dark brown eyes stare back at me and I trail my gaze down his crooked nose to perfect parted lips. His hands are still on me, tugging me closer. I don’t even know his name.

I surge forward and kiss him.

It’s messy and passionate, filled with lust. Slick lips and desperate tongues, exploring hands and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. We sway together on the dancefloor for what seems like an eternity, sometimes kissing, sometimes just holding each other, panting and sweating and then he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, pressing kisses down my neck. His breath his warm in my ear when he says, “Let’s go.”

Right now, I’d follow this guy just about anywhere as long as he keeps doing that thing with his tongue. “Where?”

“Bathroom?” He breathes.

“That’s fucking unsanitary,” I say. But moan anyway.

“Car,” He states. “My car. Parking lot.”

I can only nod as we stumble drunkenly out into the night air. Goosebumps speckle my arms, but not because it’s cold. The stranger pulls me toward a dark car. I can’t be bothered to recognize the color or model when he just pushes me against the door and kisses me again.

Inside the backseat is more cramped than I imagined. On the movies, they make having sex in the backseat of a car seem… I don’t know.  _ Sexy _ . But when it’s actually happening, there’s a lot to consider. I hit my head on the ceiling twice and my leg gets twisted between the front seats and he has to help me dislodge it. But by the time we’re both pantless and he’s slipping the condom onto me, it’s just instinct. I’m letting my desires lead me, forgetting logic and rationality.

I fuck him in the backseat of his car and then I climb out with my jeans still unbuttoned. He winks at me, tells me he had fun, and then drives away, leaving me standing alone in the parking lot feeling a lot more empty than before. On the bright side; The thoughts roaring around inside my head have finally ceased.


	12. Try Not To Talk When There's Nothing To Say

****_ Day Six _

I wake up at six in the morning when Gerard stumbles into the room. He doesn’t bother with the light, but I can mostly see him illuminated by the rising sun streaming in through the window. He looks like shit. His hair is matted, tangled, and sticking up in every direction. There are dark circles under both eyes and I’d probably assume he’s drunk expect for the distinct lack of an alcoholic smell. He yawns, blinks a few times, and then strips down to his boxers to fall ungracefully onto his bed. He’s sober. Just tired. I can relate.

Still, I sit up. His head turns in my direction, eyes narrowed as he wipes furiously at his nose. I don’t say anything, but the silence speaks volumes more than I ever could right now. Gerard seems to hear it, too. “Fuck you, Frank.” He says, but there’s no real venom in the words. It feels almost emotionless, defeated and empty. Like a knee-jerk reaction.

I stand up. He doesn’t move when I step toward his bed, doesn’t acknowledge me when I prod his arm, pushing him over. He shifts easily enough, scooting to the far side of the mattress. Then I lie down next to him.

It feels strange to be in this close proximity again, almost but not quite touching. But his breath is warm on my ear when he whispers, “I hate you, you know. But… I don’t.”

I just nod because I understand. Silence consumes us for a long time, but I can feel his alertness. He’s not asleep. Eventually, I fold my arms across my chest, hugging myself when I whisper, “It’s called asexual.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything, so I add, “It’s a real thing. Google defined it as a lack of sexual attraction or desires.” I turn onto my side and find Gerard already watching me. His pink lips are parted, hazel eyes glazed over. He’s so fucking beautiful in this instant, so open and vulnerable, that it makes my chest ache with the echo of past emotions. “You’re not broken, Gerard. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Gerard inhales a slow, shaky breath. And then his fingers brush mine. He opens his mouth, but falls silent as his hand settles against mine, fingers interlocking. “There’s a lot of things wrong with me. Like the fact that I want this.” He pauses, his voice hoarse when he asks, “Can I have this? Just for tonight?”

And I can’t find it in myself to deny it, because a part of me needs it just as much, no matter how much it might hurt in the morning. So I nod and brush the pad of my thumb over his knuckles. He leans in, his lips brushing over mine. It’s faint, almost not a kiss at all, but it’s there. Then he sighs. His eyes close and I watch for a few minutes longer until sleep finally comes. Then I let myself fall asleep next to him.

 

When I wake up a few hours later, the bed is empty and Gerard is gone.

 

After a shower and a change of clothes, I make my way down to the cafe. Lunch is just closing at the buffet and the crowd dwindles. In the corner of the room, nestled into a booth alone, is Gerard.

As I slide into the seat across from him, Gerard looks up. He doesn’t say anything before returning to stare into the black abyss of coffee in front of him. He takes a small sip.

“I think I found something,” I state. “About the--” I pause, lowering my voice. “The marriage thing.”

Gerard looks up, intrigued, so I continue. “I went to the library yesterday and found out that Vegas weddings are only legal if the right paperwork is signed by the right people. I know how we can find out if we actually got married or not.”

Gerard nods dumbly when I don’t say anything else, waving his hand around impatiently. “ _ And? _ ”

“It’s as easy as checking Google,” I tell him. “We find a computer, we can find out if I’m officially Mister Frank Way.”

Gerard takes another big gulp of his coffee and then stands up, watching me. “Well? Let’s go,” He gestures for me to follow him.

I groan, but stand anyway. “I’m hungry,” I complain. “Can’t we eat first?”

Gerard shakes his head sharply. “You can eat when we’re divorced.”

 

Not an hour later, Gerard and I are crowded around a computer at the same library I’d visited the day before. The cubicles are too small for two people to fit comfortably, for privacy reasons probably, so I hover obnoxiously over Gerard’s shoulder.

He clicks and types and moments later, we’re looking at a search bar on the Clark County Records website. Gerard’s fingers remain still atop the keys, but he doesn’t type. Anxiety is bubbling in my stomach, making my hands twitch to just shove him out of the way and type the damn words for him. But his head turns in my direction, his mouth suddenly way too close to mine. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is it stupid to say I’m nervous?” He wonders.

I swallow hard. “So am I,” I admit.

“What happens after this?” Gerard asks. “What happens with us?”

“We’ll get divorced,” I say. “Nobody ever has to know.”

“I mean…” Gerard hesitates, dropping his eyes down. “What about us? I am so sick of pretending to be someone else, Frank. I’m sick of hating you. After last night…” He looks up at me again, his eyes bright, like a light has literally ignited behind them. “I’ve got baggage, okay? I can’t figure out the shit in my own head most of the time. But I know that I want to go back to the way we were before. When you knew me better than anyone.”

I freeze. It’s like time stops completely. All these years, I’ve imagined Gerard saying those words, thought of how I’d kiss him and tell him I still loved him. But right now, actually hearing them said, I feel nothing but the dull echo of the love I used to feel. The love I lost. Because the truth is, I don’t still love him.

“I think…” I swallow down the dryness that seems to settle in my mouth. My tongue feels like sandpaper. “I don’t think I can do that, Gerard. I can’t go back to that.”

Gerard continues to stare at me, but I look straight forward at the computer. He doesn’t say anything and eventually I clear my throat. “Do you want me to type it in?”

As he shoves the chair back, I have to slide out of the way so I don’t get hit by it. Gerard stands and moves away from the computer. I take the seat, glancing up only to catch a glimpse of Gerard’s back as he strides toward the exit.

I want to call to him, but remember at the last second that we’re in a library. I know if I go after him, the computer will be claimed by someone else in a matter of moments. So I sigh and watch him disappear from the library.

I don’t love him. That single thought resonates through me. And yet I have a painful feeling like I just lost something special.

 

When I’m finished at the library, I go back to the hotel room and order room service. My stomach gurgles obnoxiously and my head hurts and I want nothing more than to drown myself in vodka, but I refrain from ordering alcohol. They bring me food instead, which is just as good right now.

Just as I’m finishing my meal, the door opens. Gerard stands there awkwardly in the floor, simply watching me. I set an empty plate aside and sit back, watching him in return. Waiting for him to make the first move.

After awhile, he sighs. “I’m sorry I ran out earlier,” He says. “I was upset, but I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “What’s with the change of heart? You don’t sound like Gerard right now. Have you been cloned?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an asshole,” He spits.

I grin. “Oh, there’s the Gerard I know.”

He sits down hard on the end of my bed and stares at his hands when he says, “I get it. I was a dick and you don’t want to be my friend. It just… It hurt hearing, I guess. You were the only person I ever really thought of as a friend. Not Bert or Ray, just you. When I’m around them, it’s like I have to put up a front. But with you, it was easy. I was allowed to be me. That’s why I was a dick afterwards, after the kiss. Because it wasn’t easy anymore. Up until then, I was straight. I just hadn’t met the right girl yet, or whatever. But then you kissed me and I… I fucking wanted it. It felt good. And that scared the hell out of me.” He chuckles, shaking his head, but still doesn’t look up. “But it was different, too. I couldn’t see guys that way, couldn’t see  _ you  _ that way. But I wanted to. I wanted to be with you, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I imagined your hands on me, your body, touching you, and it didn’t do anything. It made me feel sick.”

When he finally looks up at me then, his eyes are wet. “And then after that, I realized I didn’t like girls either. I blamed you. And because of that, I fucked everything up.”

I reach forward to rest my hand on his, a gesture meant to be comforting, but he flinches away from the slight touch. “We can’t just pretend nothing happened,” I say. “I can’t pretend I was never in love with you. I can’t pretend I didn’t hate you. And now, I can’t pretend to know you.”

Gerard nods, accepting this. I lace my fingers through his, squeezing. “We can’t just go back or start over. But… we can try. To start over, I mean. Friends, from the beginning. Just friends. Acquaintances. After all, we have two years to catch up on. You have your own shit to work out, and I have mine. And I think it’s better if we work it out separately.”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies dryly. “We can split our emotional baggage in the divorce settlement.”

“Ahh!” I jump up enthusiastically and grab the papers I’d printed off at the library, handing them over. There’s a border of advertisements and a headline from the Clark County Records, and in the center of the page it reads, “no results match your search.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Way,” I grin. “You are not, and have never been, legally wed.”

Gerard looks up with wide eyes, hopeful. “We’re not married?”

“Nope,” I shake my head. “I don’t know if we’ll ever know what happened that night, but we did not get married in Vegas, thank God. That is too cliche, even for me.”

“But wait,” Gerard sets the papers down on the bed and frowns at me. “How did we end up with those rings? You really think it’s possible that drunk us went and bought fake wedding rings just to fuck with sober us?”

Even to me, that sounds doubtful. Still, I don’t like the alternative. “You think someone set us up? That’s a really mean joke. It was probably your asshole friends.”

Gerard looks like he wants to argue for about a second, but eventually just shrugs. “Maybe. But my friends weren’t even at the bar that night and I doubt it was some strangers. The only people with us that night were--”

“Mikey and Bob,” I finish the thought, frowning. “What? You think Mikey and Bob got us drunk, grabbed us from the bar, walked us home, put us into bed together, and slipped fake wedding rings onto us? That’s ridiculous. Why the hell would they even do that?”

But even as I ask the question, I know the answer. Bob wanted me to get over Gerard. He wanted me to realize what an asshole he was. But he knew I wouldn’t listen to him. I needed to figure it out on my own. Mikey just wanted me and Gerard to talk again, to become friends like we used to be.

“I can’t fucking believe them,” I growl. I start pacing the floor. “Those assholes! How could they do that to us?”

“Slow down, Frank,” Gerard says calmly. “We don’t know it was actually them. It could just be a misunderstanding.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” I retort. “Think about it, Gee. It makes sense. Bob wanted me to hate you, he wanted me to see how much of a jackass you’ve become-- No offense. Your brother wanted us to get along. They wanted us to spend time together. What better way than to fake marry us and force us to figure it out?”

I watch as Gerard works it through in his head, the frown deepening until he’s just glaring at the floor. “I’m gonna kill them,” He hisses and pushes to his feet. But I step forward and press my hands to his shoulders, holding him there.

“Wait, wait.” The gears are slowly turning in my head, a plan forming. “They don’t know that we know,” I tell him. “I have an idea. We’re not killing them. We’re getting even.”

Gerard’s brow furrows as he watches me curiously. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

I simply grin at him, and say, “How do you feel about kissing me again?”

**[A/N: I know that it’s taken me forever to update, but I have an excuse. My computer, for whatever reason, won’t connect to my wifi. Updates can’t happen without wifi. Hopefully I can get the wifi issue figured out soon and I’ll be able to update more regularly, but until then, please be patient with me. I know you want more chapters, but repeating ‘please update’ in the comment section is not going to fix my internet any faster.**

**fucking love you. xoRachel]**


	13. Do You Wanna Be My Lover Tonight?

****_ Day Seven _

“You sure this is going to work?”

I sigh, falling onto the bed. “Holy hell, stop asking me that.”

“But… are we sure this is going to work?” Gerard repeats. He’s asked me a million times already and, though we’ve had this planned out meticulously since last night, he’s still not entirely convinced.

“Yes,” I state. “This is going to work. Now put your shoes on so we can go. Bob and Mikey are meeting us there.”

“Don’t forget Pete,” Gerard hums. He sits down on the end of the bed to tie his shoes. “Mikey invited his new friend.”

“Boyfriend,” I specify. “You can say the word, Gerard. Pete is Mikey’s  _ boyfriend _ .”

Gerard grimaces, shrugging one shoulder. “They’ve only known each other a few days,” he disagrees. “How can they be dating if they barely know each other?”

“That’s sort of how dating works,” I tell him. “You don’t have to know their entire backstory to like someone. And Mikey likes Pete. They’ve seen each other every day since they met at the bar. They’re having sex and going out to lunch. That’s dating, dude.”

“I don’t want to think about my brother having sex,” Gerard says.

“Well you can threaten Pete when you meet him tonight. If we ever get there, that is. Hurry the fuck up.”

“I’m ready,” Gerard stands, grabbing his wallet. “We can go now.”

“We’re gonna be late,” I mutter, but follow him out the door anyway.

“We’re not gonna be late,” Gerard frowns.

As it turns out, Gerard was right. We weren’t late. When we meet Bob, Mikey, and Pete at the festival, we’re right on time. Bob makes a face when we walk up together, but he says nothing. Mikey interrupts him before he has a chance to. He practically throws a strange man in our direction, beaming, as he says, “Guys, this is Pete. Pete, this is my brother Gerard and my friend Frank.”

Pete sticks his hand out to me first, a nervous smile tugging on his lips. “Uh… Hi. I’m Pete.”

“Frank,” I shake his hand, then jab a thumb in Gerard’s direction. “That’s Gee. He’s probably going to threaten you because you’re boning his brother.”

Pete nods slowly, casting a wary glance at Gerard.

I grab Bob’s arm and start dragging him down the sidewalk. The others follow behind. “Okay, we have like twenty minutes before the ferris wheel starts going--”

“It’s not just a ferris wheel, Frank,” Mikey says seriously, sounding disappointed in me. “It’s the High Roller. It’s over five-hundred feet tall.”

“Oh right, sorry.” I roll my eyes. “We have twenty minutes before the  _ really big _ ferris wheel starts going without us. Which means that we have time to play festival games before we go!”

Lining the sidewalk on both sides are booths, shouting workers and bright lights. It’s like a fairground, right in the midst of the Vegas casinos and strip clubs. A few rides blast carnival music as they spin and whirl and groups of people chatter while stuffing their faces with cotton candy.

“Step right up!” Calls one of the booth workers. He points a grungy finger in our direction. “Come on! Don’t be shy! Win a goldfish!”

“Fish!?” I turn to the booth. The guy behind the table beams at me with unnaturally white teeth. “How do I win a goldfish?”

“All you’ve gotta do,” He yells. “Is get one of these rings onto a bottle!”

He throws three plastic rings onto the table, gesturing toward the row of glass bottles behind him. I hand over a few dollars and grab the rings. The first one just barely nicks a bottle, the second misses completely, and the third wedges itself between two glasses. “Ooh! Tough luck!” The man yells, still grinning. “Try again?” He waves a few rings in front of me, tempting.

I shake my head, glancing at Gerard. “No, I’m done.”

Gerard, taking this cue, steps up. “I’ll try.”

Stepping forward, Gerard takes the rings, hands over the money, and starts throwing. The third lands around the neck of a bottle and the booth man shouts, “Winner!” He grabs a bag from beneath the table, handing it over to Gerard.

With the fish in his hands, Gerard smiles softly. He holds it out to me. “For you.”

When I take the bag, I lean in and press a kiss to his lips. “You’re so fucking cheesy.”

Gerard grins. “Come on,” he says, and grabs my hand. “Or we’re gonna miss the ferris wheel.”

In the race to get to the ferris wheel in time, no one has a chance to stop and question this new closeness between Gerard and I. We make it to the ferris wheel, hand over our tickets, and climb aboard.

Looking back on it, I suppose choosing to have The Confrontation ™ with Bob and Mikey in an enclosed space, five-hundred feet off the ground, wasn’t really the best choice. But as the doors close and the five of us start lifting into the air, I realize we’re trapped in this glass prison for the next thirty minutes and Bob just saw me kiss Gerard.

“What in the fuck was that?” Bob asks dumbly. He looks down to where my hand is still snugly wrapped in Gerard’s.

I shrug indifferently. “You mean the kiss?”

Bob rolls his eyes. “No, I mean the goldfish. Yes I mean the fucking kiss.”

“It was a kiss,” I say. “My lips touched his. That’s usually how kissing works. Unless it’s a forehead kiss, wherein my lips would touch his forehead. Or a cheek kiss, where my lips--”

“You’re joking, right?” Bob interrupts. He looks bewildered, watching the two of us. “You can’t be serious. Frank, this is  _ Gerard  _ we’re talking about.”

Gerard raises a hand. “Yeah, I’m right here.”

“Shut the hell up,” Bob snarls. 

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Mikey snaps. “This is your fucking fault, Bob! I told you this would happen!”

“Shut up!” Bob says. “Frank, you’re not this stupid. This is Gerard. He’s the asshole who outed you two years ago. And now you’re kissing him?”

“I’m allowed to kiss whoever I want,” I tell him. “Especially my own husband.”

Pete looks surprised. “You’re married? Congratulations.”

“Shhhh,” Mikey covers Pete’s mouth with his hand. “No, they are not married.”

“Yes we are,” Gerard says. “We didn’t tell you guys before, but we got married a few nights ago. We woke up and there were rings, we were in bed together--”

“At first, we were obviously going to get a divorce as soon as humanly possible,” I interject. “But… the more we thought about it, the more sense it made to just stay married. It would cost money to get divorced, money we don’t have. This way, we can combine benefits. Like, it will save Gerard money on school loans to be a married student.”

“And Frank can stay with me while I’m at college,” Gerard adds. “There are better job opportunities in New York.”

“Will you two just shut the fuck up!?” Bob explodes. “You’re not actually married!”

“Yes we are,” I tell him. “Look, I know you don’t like Gerard, but it’s my decision, Bob.”

“No, I mean you’re not married!” Bob yells. “We faked the whole fucking thing!”

The silence that settles in the carrier with us is so tense I think the glass might shatter. I hold my water filled bag out to Gerard. “Hold my goldfish.” I move forward to stand in front of Bob. His nostrils are flared and his face is red, but he looks wary. “I’d punch you right now,” I admit in a low voice, “but we’re five-hundred feet in the air and I’m getting kind of nauseous. I know you faked the whole thing. I know you and Mikey thought it would be some ingenious plan force Gerard and I together. I know you hate Gerard. But right now, I hate you even more.”

“Frank, I didn’t mean to--” Bob starts, but I shake my head.

“You are a fucking liar,” I snap. “And a shitty friend! You made me think I got drunk married! Who the hell does that?!”

“It was a stupid plan,” Mikey admits. “But we just wanted you and Gerard to talk.”

“We talked,” Gerard admits. “And yelled. We fought a lot.”

“But you guys are talking now! So it was a success!” Mikey says, grinning. “You’re friends again!”

Gerard looks at me, then shakes his head sadly. “No, we’re not, Mikes. We’re strangers.”

“Maybe Gerard and I can work things out eventually,” I tell them. “But whether or not we decide to talk is up to us. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m sorry,” Bob says. “Frank, it was stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” I nod. “And maybe eventually I’ll forgive you, but for now I want you to leave me the hell alone.” I look at Mikey. “Both of you. We’re graduated now. We’re adults. And I am done with this high school drama bullshit. I’d walk away from you right now, but I would literally die from a fall of this height. So I’m gonna sit in that corner there and not talk to anybody, okay?”

Bob and Mikey both nod reluctantly. I take my fish back from Gerard and sit down on the floor, holding the bag in my lap. Just me and Goldie. The only one on this fucking planet it seems I can trust.

**[Wow, how long has it been since this was updated? I’m sorry, I suck. BUT I am almost done with this fic! There’s still a few more chapters left, but I just want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck it out with me for this long. Fucking love you. xoRachel]**


	14. Take a Sad Song and Make it Better

****_ Day Ten _

On the last day of the trip, I sit alone in the cafe. My suitcase is packed, resting by my feet, as I poke at a cold pancake on the plate in front of me. The past few days have been quiet. Bob and Mikey kept their distance, just as I asked, though Bob sent room service to me at one point with an apology pie. I ate the pie and continued to ignore Bob.

Gerard seemed distant, too. I saw him with his friends, smoking outside the hotel. He caught my eye, but didn’t say anything. I kept walking and he kept smoking and it occurred to me; we really were strangers. Not friends, not enemies, just… two people who didn’t know each other.

I look up from my half-eaten breakfast when someone slides into the chair across from me. Ms. Herman smiles. “Frank! Hi. Wow, I feel like I haven’t see you at all this week. How was the trip?”

I take a bite of pancake just to have something to do, chewing slowly. It’s sticky and dry when I swallow. “It was… umm… eventful.”

Herman grimaces. “Nobody complained, so I guess rooming with Gerard went okay?”

I shrug. “We argued a lot,” I admit. “But we didn’t kill each other.”

She throws her arms up victoriously. “So it was successful! No murder! Nobody got arrested. I’d say it was a decent trip.” She leans back in her chair with a sigh. “I wish it didn’t have to end, but I’m pretty excited to go home. How about you? Do you think you’ll miss it here?”

I think that over. Will I miss the city? It’s beautiful, loud, buzzing with excitement. But overall, it’s a lot to handle.

What is it that they say? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. I wish that were true. I’d leave all my emotional baggage here. I’d leave behind the fake marriage and Bob’s betrayal. I could leave all of it here and go back home feeling weightless.

But I can’t do that. I can’t leave my emotions here and I can’t go home. I’m not even sure if I have a home at this point.

Eventually I shake my head. “I won’t miss this.”

Herman cocks her head to the side. “Not even a little bit?”

 

Across the room, I can see Bob eating alone. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I want to talk to him, I want to tell him I forgive him, but I can’t. Not yet. Because along with the longing to talk to my best friend, there’s a pit of anger in my stomach that twists every time I see his stupid face. If we hadn’t come on this stupid trip, we never would have fought. I would still have a best friend. So I look down at my pancake, glaring at it like it’s the cause of this whole mess of emotions in me. “No, I won’t miss this.” I tell Ms. Herman. “Not even a little bit.

 

The flight seems longer than last time. Maybe it’s because I spend the time alone, awake, analyzing everything that’s happened in my eighteen years of life. I start back when Gerard and I became friends in middle school. I recall the times we sat in his bedroom sharing comics and cheetos and stolen cigarettes.

Then I think of the years we spent hating each other.

The weeks I spent sleeping on a bench when my parents kicked me out.

I think of meeting Bob, when his parents took me in and became my new family. When Bob became my best and only friend. And how he, too, betrayed me.

He sits next to me quietly, staring blankly at some movie playing. I don’t think he’s actually watching it. After two hours of silence, I flick him in the arm.

Bob looks hopeful when he turns to face me.

“I’m still not talking to you,” I inform him. “But… I do have one question.”

Bob frowns, but nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

I lean closer, lowering my voice though I don’t think anyone around us is paying attention. “That night, when you took me and Gerard to the bar. The bartender said we got pretty handsy.”

Bob grimaces. “You guys made out,” He admits. “I tried to stop you, but Mikey convinced me not to intervene. He said you two needed to work out your problems alone.”

“So we were drunk,” I clarify. “Totally wasted and you guys thought ‘ _ oh it’s fine, they’re both inebriated and unable to consent _ ’ but decided not to step in?”

“It’s not like you guys were fucking,” Bob hisses. “It was just kissing.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you sure about that? You took us back to the room and put us in bed. How do you know we didn’t have fuck after you left? Because when I woke up that morning, I felt pretty sexed up.”

“What does that even mean,” Bob deadpans. “You felt sexed up?”

“As in my ass felt pretty well used,” I say. “How can you be sure nothing happened?

“Because we took you back to the room and watched you both pass out,” Bob says. “Unless you both woke up in the middle of the night and decided to have a quickie, then I’m sure: Nothing happened.”

“And you watched me all night?” I wonder. “I didn’t leave Gerard and hook up with some random dude?”

“I lost you at one point,” Bob admits. “You and Gerard left the bar.”

“And--” I feel like smacking him. “How do you know we didn’t hook up when we left?”

“Because I found you on the sidewalk outside,” Bob gives me a pitying look. “You stole a skateboard and Gerard convinced you that trying to skate drunk was a good idea. You were almost in tears when I found you because you fell on your ass and broke the damn board. There was no fucking, only falling.”

“I fell on my ass,” I repeat, and breathe out in relief. “I didn’t have sex. I broke a skateboard.”

Bob frowns some more, looking concerned. “You seriously thought you had sex. Dude, is that really what anal feels like?”

“I’m still not talking to you,” I huff, and turn to face forward again, crossing my arms. But for the remainder of the flight, Bob looks just a little bit happier.

 

 

When we land and collect our baggage, we board a bus to take us back to the high school. I sit alone with my suitcase.

When the bus stops and we unload, Bob finds his car in the lot and starts piling his stuff into the trunk. Without asking, he grabs my suitcase and lugs it along with his own. Even if I’m pissed, he’s still my ride back to the house. Just as I’m turning to follow him, a hand catches my arm. When I look up, Gerard is standing there. Bert and Ray stand a few feet away, laughing about something. They don’t seem to even notice us.

Gerard opens his mouth a few times, no words coming out. He reminds me of a lost child. Eventually, he nudges my shoulder playfully. A small smile seems forced on his lips. “I’ll see you around, right?”

And it’s so unexpected, almost casual, that it makes me laugh. Like we’re thrown back in time and Gerard is asking me to hang out next weekend. But we’re not those sixteen year old kids anymore. We’re not friends. We’re not enemies. We’re nothing. In a matter of months, he’s moving to a different state. No, we won’t see each other around. We won’t talk. After this, we’ll go our separate ways and become even more distant strangers. Everything that’s happened between us, not only in the past week but the past two years… all of it will be lost. Memories that will fade, just tragic backstories of two old friends who fell apart.

But Gerard doesn’t want that. It’s the reason he’s talking to me now after days of silence, the reason he’s acting casual. It’s to close the distance. To make us not so estranged. This is his effort, I realize. This is Gerard trying to mend us, to make things okay. But it’s a futile attempt. It’s useless. Things between us can’t be fixed so easily, not with some simple words and a casual facade. We’re a lot more broken than that.

With a sigh, I step toward him. He doesn’t back away like he once would, but he looks nervous. When I kiss him this time, he doesn’t flee. He let’s me have this small moment, the lingering taste of his lips. One final kiss. His eyes are still closed when I pull away, like he’s savoring it too. Like he knows that this is our final farewell.

“Goodbye Gerard.” And with that, I turn and walk to the car. Maybe I couldn’t leave my emotional baggage in Vegas, but here seems like a decent place to let it rest for awhile. In the high school parking lot, where my life fell apart, I watch as Gerard fades in the rearview mirror until eventually he disappears completely. And only then do I feel a little bit better.

**[THIS IS NOT THE END. I realize this seems like an ending, but it’s really not. There are still seven chapters left, and they’re all fairly short because it’s told in timestamps. A sort of extended epilogue.**

**Fucking love you. xoRachel.]**


	15. It's Fun and Games Until We Both Get Hurt

**October 13.**

**Four months after Vegas.**

In the four months since I’d left Vegas, and Gerard, behind not much had changed. I looked like the same high-schooler I was before. I’ve got the same shitty job, only now it’s full-time instead of part. I’ve got the same lack of ambition and the same hatred of this stupid small town.

I envy Gerard for being able to run away from it all. To start over; a new person, a new city, a new life.

We haven’t spoken in months. Apparently he’d gotten my number from Mikey. Admittedly, I was surprised by that first text. It was simple, to the point, when he said _“It’s Gerard. Mikey gave me your number. If you don’t want to talk to me, you can delete this and pretend it never happened.”_

It was stupid, but I didn’t hesitate to message back.

We texted one or twice, but it was always awkward and stinted conversation. Surprisingly, it was Bob that suggested we try Skyping.

“It will be less weird face-to-face,” he explained. “Texting is too personal. You can’t just say “Hey, what’s up?” or send stupid memes back and forth. You guys aren’t ready for that.”

Gerard almost immediately agreed. So here we are. My borrowed laptop sits open on the floor, the blue screen both welcoming and taunting me.

I’m fucking nervous. How ridiculous is that?

I’m utterly unprepared when the words pop up; _Incoming call_. Almost instinctively, I click deny. The screen goes back to the home page and I sigh. I find Gerard’s screen name and take a deep breath before calling him. He answers in seconds.

It makes me feel better when Gerard appears on the computer screen, looking just as awkward as I do. But more than that, he looks the same as I remember. It seems he hasn’t changed as much as I figured he had. And that makes me relax.

“Hi,” he smiles, lifting his hand in a wave.

“Hi.” I return the gesture.

The conversation is slow at first. Two strangers, people who once knew each other attempting to rekindle an old friendship. Forced nonchalance and small talk.

_How have you been?_

_Good. You?_

_Good._

Eventually, it’s Gerard that steers the subject into more informal territory.

“New York is a change. It’s not that far from Jersey, but living here is totally different.”

“Good different?” I ask.

He grins, a smile I haven’t seen in a long time, and nods. “Yeah. It’s great. Especially with the whole…” he pauses, shrugging and lowering his voice when he says, “you know… the asexual thing.”

I try to offer an encouraging smile. “Have you told anybody? About you?”

Gerard shakes his head sharply. “No. I can’t yet. Telling people will make it seem more real.”

I nod, understanding this. “You don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready.”

Gerard looks down, clears his throat. It looks like he wants to say something, but no words come. I decide to change the topic before he gives himself an aneurysm. “How’s Mikey? I hear from him every once in awhile, but we don’t talk much.”

“He loves Chicago,” Gerard chuckles. “He’s still seeing Pete. He likes to complain about the distance, but he seems happy. How about Bob? You’re still friends with him, right? Even after everything that happened.”

I sigh. “Yeah. It took some time. I stayed pissed for a long time after Vegas, but… he’s my best friend. The only family I’ve got. We actually just signed a lease for an apartment. We started moving things in last week.”

“You’re moving in together?” Gerard asks, and the surprise and insinuation sound in his voice.

I scoff. “I’m not dating Bob, dude. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah… No.” Gerard shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just…”

I nod along. “You were a homophobic asshole for two years,” I tell him bluntly. “And now you’re trying to change. You’re still learning. You’re trying to not assume stupid shit. I get it. I’m gay, but I have a totally platonic living arrangement with a man.”

“There’s a gay guy in my Intro to Animation class,” Gerard says.

“Oh.” I furrow my eyebrows in a grimace. “Gerard, I hate to break it to you, but you’re an art major. There’s probably a lot of gay people in your class.”

“Well… Yeah. I know.” But he sighs. “I just mean, I know he’s gay. He’s really open about it. He talks about his boyfriend all the time.” Gerard stops, looking down for a long moment. He’s got that expression again, like he’s searching for words. This time, I wait. Eventually, he swallows hard and looks up at the camera, staring directly at me through the screen. “I’m sorry. For everything I did. For outing you and for being a dick about it, for lying and for treating you like shit. I’m sorry that your parents disowned you. I know that it’s not entirely my fault how everyone reacted, but it all started with me. And I am so fucking sorry, Frank.”

A lump rises in my throat. All this time, and he’s never apologized. I’d been kicked around and bullied, my entire life ripped apart, and Gerard never once said sorry for being the catalyst that started it all. Now, staring at him through the screen as he swallows his pride and says those words, something loosens in my chest. It’s like a wall breaking into dust, shattering and just floating away in the wind. It feels lighter. Suddenly being stuck in this shitty town, with this shitty job, doesn’t seem so bad because it occurs to me that things can change. Gerard is changing. He’s becoming a better person. And I realize I can change, too. My life, my situation, all of it can change. I just have to take the first step.

“I forgive you,” I tell him. And if we both cry a little bit, nobody ever has to know.


	16. Kids Are Still Depressed When You Dress Them Up

**December 31.**

**Six months after Vegas.**

Gerard’s smile is more natural. His laugh is more easy. For the first time in forever, he looks genuinely happy.

I can’t say the same about myself, but I fake a smile anyways, trying to feed off Gerard’s enthusiasm.

“You’re all dressed up,” I realize, waving a hand at the computer, encompassing Gerard’s brightly colored New Year’s hat. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah!” Gerard beams. “Just a party with some friends. What about you?”

I look down at myself, dressed in old boxers and a stained T-shirt. I shake my head. “No, no. I’m staying in.”

When Bob had informed me earlier tonight that he was going out, I almost expected an invitation. But it was no secret that Bob’s friends didn’t like me; to them, I was some moocher who just shared an apartment with Bob. College kids that only talked to me if they wanted free tickets to the movies.

So here I was, alone on New Year’s Eve, spending my night with a box of leftover takeout food.

I decide to change the topic as quickly as possible. “So college friends, huh? Am I keeping you from them? Do you need to go?” I almost hope he says yes, but Gerard just shakes his head.

“No, not yet. I’ve got time. How have you been?”

I shrug. “Fine.”

Gerard frowns. “Liar. Anybody who says they’re fine is lying. What’s up?”

With a sigh, I snuggle back into the couch cushions. “Nothing.” Also a lie. What’s wrong? My best friend is out with other people, having the time of his life while I’m stuck in a tiny apartment eating cold leftovers in my underwear. Another year of my life is wasted, vanishing with nothing left to show for it. I hate my job and my life and my lack of peers and I feel like I’m withering away in mediocrity. Just barely getting by and hating every moment of it. “Everything,” I groan. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna talk about me. Tell me about college.”

Gerard frowns some more, but doesn’t argue. “It’s good. It’s better than I thought it would be. Like, I knew it would be better than high school, but it’s really great.”

“Oh yeah?” I grab my cold food and shamelessly stuff a bite into my mouth. “It’s like four more years of high school. What’s so great about that?”

“But it’s not high school,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes. “It’s better. Sure, there’s still homework and classes, but it’s so different. There’s no one to make me do anything; if I don’t want to go to class, I don’t have to. I can stay up all night and eat Cheetos and Ramen and nobody fucking cares. And last week, my roommate brought a girl back to our dorm and they actually kicked me out. I got sexiled, Frank!”

“Are you happy about that?”

“Not particularly,” Gerard says, shrugging. “But it’s the fact that he can do that. Because we’re adults. We can do whatever we want. And most of my classes are art-centered; Intro to animation, history of female characters in filmography. Frank, there is an entire class dedicated to shading!”

I laugh. “Wow, you sound like you’re really liking it.”

“I love it,” he sighs. “So much. I’m doing stuff that I like doing. And I’m meeting new people that I have stuff in common with.”

“Artsy kids,” I muse. “Tell me, Gerard, how many of them are forever stuck in their emo phase?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Yeah, art kids,” he says. “But… I mean like me in other ways, too.” He pauses, a small smile forming. “I met a guy. His name’s Ryan.”

I sit up straighter on the sofa, taken aback. I smirk at him. “Dude, are you dating?”

“No,” Gerard scoffs. “First of all; Ryan has a boyfriend. But… he’s asexual.”

“And you told him about you?” I ask. “Gerard, that’s awesome. I’m  proud of you, dude.”

“It took some time,” He says, waving it off  like it’s not a big deal. “But when Ryan told me he was, it was easier to tell him about me. And he’s got a boyfriend, Brendon. They’re really nice. Ryan even told me about this meetup that happens every few months. A group of asexual people in the area get together. Like a support group. Asexuals Anonymous. I’m going with Ryan to the next meetup.”

“That’s awesome,” I grin. “Starting tomorrow, it’s a new year. Looks like you’re definitely starting something new. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Gerard ducks his head, then nods to me. “What about you? New year. What are your resolutions?”

I glance down at the cold takeout in my hand, putting it back on the table. In a way, it feels like the perfect metaphor for my life.

Across the room, there’s an empty fishbowl where Goldie used to live. When he died a few weeks ago; I made Bob give him a proper funeral, but couldn’t bring myself to throw out the bowl. Another perfect metaphor.

I close my eyes, resting my head back on the couch. I wonder if we have any beer in the fridge. It sounds like good night to drink myself into oblivion.

So this past year hasn’t been great. Then again, the past few years have mostly sucked. What’s one more year of suckery?

When I finally bring myself to look at the computer again, the image there makes my chest hurt. Gerard looks so happy. There’s a glow in his eyes, something that smiles even when his lips aren’t. He’s doing something with his life, he’s enjoying living, being happy. That’s what I want.

New year, new me, right? I resolve to stop being such a loser. I resolve to find a job that doesn’t make me want to throw myself off Brooklyn Bridge. To find someone new. To be a better me.

But in the end, I shrug. “I don’t know,” I lie. “I guess I don’t have any resolutions.”

“You’re lying again,” Gerard frowns.

“Nope,” I tell him. I sink lower into the cushions, crossing my arms. The computer wiggles on my lap, my image moving with it. “Resolutions are stupid. You make a goal for the entire year, but you always abandon it by February, and then by the time New Years rolls around again you feel obligated to make the same stupid resolution you didn’t fulfil last year.”

“Oh come on,” Gerard says. “One thing. That’s all I ask, one resolution. What’s one thing you want in the new year?”

I bite my cheek. I want that look on his face to be mine, to feel myself smile without the weight of the world dragging me down. “I want to be happy,” I admit. “That’s what I want.”

Gerard smiles again, softly, privately, a moment between just the two of us, and raises a can of Coke to the computer screen in a toast. “To being happy,” He says.

I reach for my own drink, raising it with his. “Yeah,” I repeat. “To being happy.”


	17. I Figured It Out

******May 26.**

**Eleven months after Vegas.**

The next time I answer a Skype call from Gerard, I’m in uniform.

He takes a moment to assess the change, leaning close to the screen and back again, squinting, before he says, “Holy shit, Frank. Either you’re a stripper or that’s a real fucking badge.”

I nod, grinning, and tug at the tag pinned on my blue shirt. The words engraved give it texture, rough under my fingertips where it says  _ Newark Police. _ I hold it up to the camera so he can see, but the words just blur, making a gold smudge of nothingness across the screen. “It’s a real fucking badge!”

“Holy shit, you’re a cop,” Gerard says. The words seem to resonate with him because a grin forms on his lips. “Holy  _ shit _ !”

“I know!” I strike a Superman pose. “Officer Iero, upholding the law.”

“How the hell, dude?” Gerard wonders.

“I enrolled in the academy,” I state obviously. “I mean… after we talked on New Year’s Eve, I started thinking.” I lean back on the couch, picking absently at the nametag that reads “F. Iero.” It makes my stomach flutter, like little fireworks being set off. Excitement. Happiness.

“I didn’t want to work at a movie theater for the rest of my life. But I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted to do. I didn’t have a calling or a purpose or any bullshit like that. But then a few days later, some kids tried to rob the theater. Dumbass move, if you ask me. Everybody pays with debit cards now. The arcade across the street probably had a lot more money than us. Anyways,” I wave my hand, trying to get back on topic. “We had to call the cops and give a report and while they were there it was like this… I don’t know… this revelation.”

“So you enrolled in the academy?”

“The next day,” I nod. “Quit my job on the spot. It took pretty much everything that I saved up to cover the tuition, but it was so worth it.”

“You work for Newark PD?” Gerard asks.

“An area of it,” I tell him. “I work for the youth and community service bureau. I handle juvenile crimes.”

“Like kids?” Gerard snorts. “You’re a glorified babysitter.”

“I am not a babysitter!” I protest. “I handle anything where a minor gets busted for illegal activity. Sometimes it’s just driving home some drunk kids and giving them a warning, or documenting their community service. Then I have to go up in front of a judge and say whether or not I think they’ve learned their lesson.” There’s a silence that follows, and I sigh. “Fine, I’m sort of a glorified babysitter. But I’m a babysitter with a fucking  _ badge _ !”

“Did they give you a gun?”

“And handcuffs and a taser! I even get to drive a cruiser!”

Gerard laughs. “Do you like it?”

“The cruiser? It’s nice. The sirens are fun.”

“No, dipshit,” Gerard snorts. “I mean the job.”

“I fucking love it,” I admit. “It’s amazing. I’m helping these kids. Not just arresting them. I’m actually helping. And dammit, it feels good.”

A slow smiles spreads across Gerard’s face. “Then I’m happy for you, Frank. You’re doing something you love. That’s awesome!”

“Speaking of doing things we love,” I say slowly, subtly steering the conversation away from me. “Last time we skyped, you mentioned those meetups where you can meet other asexual people. Did you go?”

Gerard grins, nodding. “I did,” He says. “I’ve been to a couple of them actually.”

“And you’re out? Do they know?”

“They do,” Gerard says. “I’ve made a couple of friends, people I can talk to that understand what it feels like.  It’s easier to work it out in my mind, to make sense of it all, when I have other people who get it too. They’ve asked all the same questions I’m asking now. They’ve come to terms with it. And I am, too.”

“That’s great, Gee.”

I don’t realize it until the nickname is out of my mouth, but by then it’s too late to take it back. Gerard notices, too, but he doesn’t mention it. He looks down, lips quirking up in a minute smile.

“I umm…” I clear my throat. “I have to get to work, but we’ll talk again soon. Right?”

“Sure thing,” Gerard smiles. I can see him move his finger to the end call button, but he hesitates. Then he says, “Bye Frankie,” and immediately ends the call.


	18. The Sun Still Shines When You're Not Around

******November 4.**

**One year, five months after Vegas.**

There are boxes visible in my background. Some are empty, turned over and just awaiting to be packed with the remainder of my belongings, but most of them are already filled, labeled, and stacked neatly against the wall. When Gerard sees them, his smile falters. His brow furrows, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle without having seen the full picture.

“You’re moving.” This much must seem obvious.

I nod. “Yeah, I am. I applied for a position as a juvenile corrections officer at a correctional facility in LA. I start in two weeks.”

“LA,” Gerard repeats dumbly. “California? That’s… far away. A long way from New Jersey.”

“Long way from New York,” I add softly. “But it’s not like I have anything holding me here. It’s a good opportunity, a fresh start.”

Gerard releases a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “You deserve a fresh start after all the shit you’ve been through.”

I offer another nod. “Yeah, I think I do. A fresh start will be good for me. Maybe I’ll meet new people. The people in Jersey suck.”

Gerard snorts. The smile on his face falters just as quick though, and he says, “Mikey is moving to Las Vegas.”

“He’s  _ what _ ?”

Gerard sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, so it falls back into his eyes instantly. “He’s moving in with Pete,” he explains. “He’s taking a year away from college and moving to Nevada to be with him.”

“Are you happy about that?”

Gerard shrugs, looking torn between a yes and no. “I don’t know,” He says. “I want to be happy for him. He’s my brother, he deserves to be happy. But I worry.”

“Pete seems like a good guy,” I say.

“I’m scared that he’s rushing into it,” Gerard tells me. His voice is low, secretive, like he’s ashamed to be saying these words. “It’s ridiculous, I guess. But what if Mikey is rushing into this and he ends up regretting it?”

“We all make mistakes,” I say. “If it’s a mistake, maybe it’s one he has to make on his own. But what if it’s not a mistake?”

“If it’s not a mistake,” Gerard chuckles. “I suppose we’ll be getting wedding invites soon.”

“It’s crazy,” I muse. “How that trip changed everything for him.”

“It changed everything for all of us,” Gerard says. “Even if we didn’t leave on the greatest terms, at least we were talking. Which is more than we’d done in years.”

“Because of that trip, my friendship with Bob was put to the test,” I tell him. “It hasn’t been the same since then, actually. I hardly talk to him anymore and we live in the same apartment.”

“I stopped talking to my friends, too,” Gerard admits. “Haven’t talked to Ray or Bert since.”

“You discovered your sexuality on that trip,” I add. “I lost my virginity. We got married for a week--”

“We got divorced within a week,” Gerard says, laughing. “That was the first time I’d actively kissed anyone. First time I got punched--”

“That was the first time I punched someone,” I grimace. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

Gerard laughs again and shakes his head. “I kind of deserved it.”

“We both deserved it,” I say, and rub the palm of my hand against my eyes. “If I could go back and punch me in the face, I would.”

“Well, unfortunately, time travel isn’t an option,” Gerard sighs. “But… you’re going to do some good, Frank. You can’t punch sense into past you, but this job in California; you’re gonna punch some sense into those kids.”

“I can’t actually punch them,” I inform him. “They’re still minors and it’s kind of illegal to use physical violence when I’m trying to teach these kids not to be criminals.”

“Metaphorical face punching,” Gerard says. “Verbally punch them with some sense.”

“I’m gonna verbally punch them so hard,” I tell him.

Gerard laughs again, a sound that makes my stomach knot. And when he smiles, it’s like staring into the fucking sun. “You’re gonna do awesome, Frank. I think California is going to be really good for you.”

“Yeah,” I agree. When I sigh, it’s like all of the weight I’d been carrying just… falls away. “I’m finally getting out of this stupid town. And with any luck, I won’t ever have to come back.”


	19. Does He Hold You When You Cry?

**March 20.**

**One year, nine months after Vegas.**

“I met someone.”

It’s the first thing Gerard says when I accept the Skype call from him. Two years ago, had he said that, it would have hurt. Now, as he smiles softly on the screen, thinking of someone else, I feel… happy. There’s a dull ache, like my chest offering a reminiscent thump of past love lost, but there’s nothing else beyond happiness.

“That’s awesome, Gerard!” I feel proud to actually mean the words. It doesn’t hurt to think of Gerard with someone else, it doesn’t make me angry or jealous like it once would have. “Dude, I’m happy for you. About damn time you started dating.”

Gerard’s face reddens and he ducks his head. “It’s new,” he says. “We’ve only been on two dates. But she’s awesome, Frankie. She’s smart and funny and she’s an art major, too.”

“Is she asexual?” I wonder.

Gerard hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, she’s not. But she knows I am. She agreed we can take it slow and see what happens.”

“She sounds pretty great.”

“She is,” Gerard says. There’s an easy smile on his lips. “She’s perfect.”

“Then I’m happy for you, man. You’re happy.”

“I really am.”

“ _ Frank? _ ”

Gerard’s smile disappears at the sound of someone in the background calling my name, his brow furrowed. “Is someone there?”

“Yeah, it’s just Derek.” I hold up a finger and lean back in my chair, calling out, “I’m in the bedroom!”

Gerard’s frown deepens. “Derek?”

“Yeah. Early release at the school, so he’s home early.”

Gerard shakes his head slowly. “Wait, who is Derek?

“My boyfriend,” I tell him. “I told you about Derek, right?”

“No,” Gerard says slowly. “You never mentioned him.”

“Oh,” I frown. “I guess it’s been longer than I thought since we’ve talked. I could have sworn I told you...”

The door behind me opens and Derek sets his bag on the bed before dropping a kiss to my lips. I greet him before flapping a hand at the computer. “Gerard, this is Derek. Der, this is my friend Gerard.”

Gerard offers a polite smile, raising his hand in a small wave. “Uh hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Derek says. “Frankie’s mentioned you. Nice to finally put a face to the name. I don’t mean to interrupt.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, and says, “I’m gonna go make lunch. Come eat when you’re done talking.” He kisses me once again, waves at Gerard, and disappears.

“You have a boyfriend,” Gerard says when he’s gone. “You never told me.”

“I’ve been busy,” I shrug. “Settling in here, at work. I must have forgot to mention it. But now you’ve met him...”

“He seems nice,” Gerard comments.

“He is. He’s great. I volunteer at the local high school where he works, talking to kids about bullying and harassment. Kind of like a steered straight program. They listen to me since I work with rehabilitating juvenile offenders. That’s how we met. He’s one of the teachers that helped start the program.”

“And you guys live together?”

I shrug again. “Not yet,” I say. “I mean, I think he’s hinting at it. He leaves most of his shit here anyway, and his lease is up at the end of the month, but we haven’t really talked about it.”

“Isn’t it kind of fast?” Gerard wonders. “You’ve only been in LA for four months.”

“We’ve been dating for almost as long,” I tell him, my voice taking on a defensive edge. “Look, yeah it’s kind of fast. But Derek is great. I like him. A lot.”

“It’s none of my business,” Gerard decides. He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry for saying anything.”

I sigh. “No, don’t apologize. You’re just looking out for me. I get it. Look, Derek’s waiting. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Gerard bites his lip and nods, not looking entirely convinced. But he waves anyway and says, “Yeah. Sure. Talk to you later.”

When I log off and make my way into the kitchen, Derek is at the stove. I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back. He laughs and I can feel it in my bones. “You’re especially clingy today,” he comments. He glances at me, raising an eyebrow curiously as he stirs his food. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” I admit. I brush a few fingers down his spine, enjoying the feel of his shiver beneath my touch, even with the layer of clothes between us. “I was thinking… do you want to move in with me?”

Slowly, Derek smiles. He turns in my arms, abandoning the food in favor of kissing me again. “I’d love that.”


	20. I'm a Thousand Miles Away

******September 23.**

**Two years, three months after Vegas.**

There are boxes in my background again. I don’t even bother hiding them. I don’t want to cover it up, I don’t want to lie to Gerard.

Inevitably, he asks, “You’re moving again?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. Derek is.”

Gerard’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Congrats. I’m happy for you guys.”

“No.” I glance back at the stacks of boxes lining the bedroom wall. Most of them are already full, just waiting for their owner to retrieve them. “He’s not moving in. He’s moving out.”

“Oh.” Gerard’s face falls. “Dude, what happened? I thought things were going okay.”

“They were,” I admit, shrugging. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened. We were happy, everything was going great.”

When I don’t say any more, Gerard prompts, “ _ But… _ ”

“But then Derek told me he loved me.”

Gerard frowns. “You didn’t say it back.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” he wonders. “I mean, you were so happy the last time we Skyped.”

“I was happy,” I tell him. Letting out a slow breath, I lean back in my chair. “I was perfectly fine with how everything was. But when Derek told me he loved me, I panicked… I couldn’t honestly say it back. And we tried for awhile, I tried really fucking hard to love him, but I just… don’t.”

“You broke up,” Gerard finishes for me. “I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him. I wipe at the tears that have started stinging my eyes. I will not cry, dammit. I gesture to the computer screen, refusing to look directly at him. “Let’s talk about something good. Oh, you were dating that girl! How’s that going?”

Silence.

When I glance at the screen, Gerard’s face falls. It’s like watching a building collapse in on itself, the instantaneous tragedy. He looks broken. “Not good. Not at all, actually. She broke up with me.”

“Gee.” I lean forward, wishing suddenly that I could just reach through the screen and hug him. But I can’t do that. I settle with another sigh. “What happened?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, looking down, and it’s almost inaudible when Gerard says, “We had sex.”

It feels like someone punched me in the gut. The air and words escape me, leaving me opening and closing my mouth without saying a single thing. I’m not sure what I would  say if capable.

Eventually, Gerard rubs his hand over his face and says, “Ryan said that he has sex with Brendon. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, he just isn’t into it the way his boyfriend is. But he does it anyway because it makes Brendon happy, because sometimes it’s nice to feel close to him in that way.” His nose wrinkles up and his eyes are cast down, the sadness still evident in them. It looks like he’s reliving the moment now and it fucking hurts that I can’t make his pain go away.

“So I thought that I could do it, too. I wanted to, I wanted to show Lindsey that I loved her. But I couldn’t do it. It started out okay; it was awkward, but it wasn’t horrible. But then it just… it got bad. I wanted to stop.”

“Gee,” I say slowly. “Gerard, tell me she didn’t--”

Sensing where my thoughts are going, Gerard shakes his head fiercely. “No! Geez, Frankie. No, she didn’t force me to do anything. But she wasn’t happy when I stopped. She decided she couldn’t be with someone who would probably never want to have sex with her. So she left.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Gerard, you deserve so much better than that.”

“That’s the thing,” Gerard says, and when he looks up again, his eyes are wet. “I loved her. I didn’t want better, I wanted  _ her _ .”

“I know.” I have that urge to hug him again. “I know it sucks. But it’s gonna get better, okay? Trust me.”

We don’t say anything else, but we sit together in our grief, mourning our own broken relationships. We’re still thousands of miles apart, but it’s better than being alone.

 

**A/N: Y’all this fic is almost done. There is one chapter left and then IT’S OVER.**

**_ONE._ **

**_MORE._ **

**_CHAPTER._ **

**fucking love you. xoRachel**


	21. I'm So Scared Of What This Could Have Been

**February 24.**

**Two years, eight months after Vegas.**

Gerard is nervous. I can tell. He fidgets more than usual and he keeps hesitating, starting a conversation just to get distracted and say something else instead.

“Dude, seriously,” I sigh when he shifts again. “If you have to piss, just go. I can wait for you to go to the bathroom.”

“I don’t have to piss,” Gerard says. “I just… I’m waiting on something.”

“Something,” I repeat.

“Someone,” He corrects.

“And you have to wiggle while you wait?”

“I’m nervous,” He admits, but I already figured that much.

“So tell me who you’re waiting on,” I say.

Gerard looks like he wants to argue, but finally he exhales a gust of air and says. “I’m waiting on a phone call. I had an interview, and they’re supposed to let me know something by the end of today.”

“A job interview?”

He shakes his head. “No. An art school.”

“Dude, you’re already in art school,” I tell him.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I know that. But I spent my first three years of college building a portfolio so I can get into somewhere better. This school is one of the top art academies in the country and if I can go here…” He stops and stares into the distance. “Frankie, this is my dream school. This will literally impact the rest of my life.”

“Gee, relax. I’ve seen your art. It’s incredible. They’d be crazy not to pick you!”

Gerard chews on his lip, not looking the least bit comforted.

“When was the interview?” I ask.

“Monday,” He says. “They said I’d hear from them by the end of the week. It’s Friday and I still haven’t heard anything.”

“Technically Saturday would be the end of the week. There’s still time. How do you think the interview went?”

Gerard shrugs uncertainly. “Good, I think. But they only choose the best of the best--”

“Which you are,” I interrupt. “You’re an amazing artist.”

Gerard grumbles, neither confirming nor denying my statement.

“Where is this fancy art school anyway?” I wonder. “Doesn’t New York have the best art programs in the country?”

Gerard stops fidgeting and looks directly at the screen, like a deer in headlights. “Well… uh… This program is even better.”

“Is it Chicago?” I ask. “They have that art institute there.”

Gerard shakes his head. “No. It’s actually in California.”

“California,” I repeat dumbly, unsure if I heard that correctly.

“Specifically LA,” Gerard says. “The school is in LA. I’m here now.”

“You’re in LA,” I state. “My LA? Like this fucking LA?”

Gerard snorts. “I wasn’t aware there was another one.”

“Shut up,” I flap a hand indignantly at him. “You’re in LA!”

Gerard smiles. “Yeah, I am.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Another week, at least,” Gerard says. “If I get accepted into the program, I’ll have to get everything sorted out before I go back to New York to finish my semester there.”

“If you get accepted,” I realize, “You’ll be moving here.”

Gerard just nods.

My heart jumps into my throat at the prospect of Gerard living in the same city as me. “Where are you?” I demand. “Are you free? We should get coffee.”

“Yeah,” He says, as a slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

 

After sending Gerard directions to my favorite cafe in the city, I sign off Skype and get dressed. We agree to meet in an hour, and I don’t have time to stop and panic until I’ve already arrived and claimed a seat near the window. With a coffee in front of me, I have time to stare into it and realize that in a matter of minutes, Gerard will be here, in person, sitting across from me.

After almost three years without seeing him, I wonder how different it will feel. We’re not strangers anymore. We’re friends. But… we’re online friends, long-distance platonic buddies. What if seeing each other in person brings back everything from Vegas and makes it weird again? What if this one meeting could ruin things between us again?

When the bell above the door rings and Gerard walks in, it feels like all the air has left the room. He’s stunning in person, without the lag and bad quality of the screen interfering. He’s wearing a black waistcoat and his hair is brushed back. His fingers flex at his sides as he glances around the cafe. When he spots me, his smile is blinding.

Should I stand up to greet him? Do I shake his hand? Hug him? I don’t want to make this weird.

Gerard gracefully slides into the seat across from me, folding his hands. He doesn’t reach out to touch me. Okay. No physical contact yet. I can do this.

I flail nervously for the waitress so Gerard can order a drink.

“You look good,” Gerard says.

I gesture at him. God why can’t I hold my hands still? “So do you.”

Why am I still an awkward fuck?

When the waitress gets back with his drink, Gerard manages to pull me into a conversation. We’d been keeping in touch on Skype, but there are still things we seemed to have missed. He tells me about Mikey, how apparently Pete proposed and of course Mikey said yes. I tell him about the city, about my job at the correctional facility and how I still volunteer at the high school even after Derek and I broke up.

Eventually the sun sets and the moon takes it’s place. I don’t even realize how late it is until the waitress clears our cups and politely says, “We’re closing up.”

I don’t want to leave, but outside the city seems alive. We walk toward the parking lot slowly, each of us seeming to want to drag this out as long as possible. 

“I can call you a cab,” I tell Gerard. “Or I could give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to,” Gerard says, but I shake my head.

“I don’t mind.”

With a shy nod, Gerard climbs into my car and points me in the direction of the motel he’s staying at. Too soon, we arrive and I stop the car in the lot. I shut off the ignition.

“I have to ask,” I turn in my seat to look at Gerard. “Was this sort of a date?”

Gerard thinks it over for a long minute and then shakes his head. “No.” But before I can feel disappointed, Gerard reaches across the center console to brush his fingers against mine. It’s the first physical contact we’ve made and it sends a shiver through me. “I want to take you out, but our first date should be someplace nicer than some shitty coffee shop.”

“Fuck you, I happen to like that coffee shop.”

Gerard laughs. A smile plays on the corners of his lips. “Do you want this to be a date, Frank?”

I turn my hand over so I can lace my fingers with Gerard’s. “If it’s a date, do I get a goodnight kiss at the end?”

Gerard leans loser, his lips hovering an inch above mine. “I think that could probably be arranged.” But he hesitates. I can see the way his gaze flickers to my lips, but he frowns. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he confides. “I fucked up when I had my first chance with you.”

“We both messed up,” I say. “We weren’t ready for it.”

“Do you think we’re ready now?” His eyes go down to my mouth again.

I reach up to stroke my fingers across his jaw. “I think I want to find out.”

And then he closes the distance and words escape me. It feels magical, better than any steamy or passionate kiss I’ve ever had, and I never want to take my mouth off of Gerard’s ever again.

But all too soon the kiss ends and Gerard sits back, looking happy. “I missed you, Frankie. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” I say. 

Gerard chuckles, pressing another soft kiss to my lips.

“Slow, right?” He rests his forehead against mine, letting his eyes close. “I mean, there’s a chance that I won’t get into this school. What happens between us now if I go back to New York?”

“Then we’ll handle it,” I tell him. “We’ve been long-distance friends for three years now. We can be long distance boyfriends.”

Gerard nods and leans in to kiss me again. “I wanna be your boyfriend,” He says. “Whatever distance there is. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t.” I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, holding him close in a way that I’ve never been allowed before. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

When the art school calls Gerard the next day to accept him into the school, we celebrate by starting the search for his first apartment. But when he officially moves to LA five months later, we’ve already decided my apartment is big enough for the both of us.

_ The End. _


End file.
